


One Heartbeat Away

by Brynneth



Series: One Heartbeat Away [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-5x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynneth/pseuds/Brynneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been eleven years since Justin moved to New York.  He and Brian have continued their lives apart, and Justin has always believed that Brian walked away from their relationship.  A chance encounter leads Justin to discover just how very wrong he's been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently discovered Queer as Folk and fell in love with Brian and Justin's story. Although I liked the series finale, I hated not knowing if they stayed together. I needed closure, and it needed to be realistic and in character. So I devised this tale, and I hope it stays true to their story.
> 
> I owe a debt of gratitude to my beta, Zevgirl, for her tireless work in editing my writing.
> 
> This work is my own, but the characters belong to the Cowlip team. I hold no rights to them.

Blowing out a huff of frustration, Justin erased the faint lines for the fourth time. He studied the sketch, rubbing at the scruff lining his jaw. Usually, he shaved first thing in the morning, but he had woken distracted, immediately grabbing his pad. Last night's dream would not let him go, shrouding him in melancholy and reminiscence. Emotions had a way of drowning him if he let them build, and for Justin, letting the energy flow from his hand to paper was better than letting it flow from fist to wall.

 

All day, he had crouched over the desk, eating only an apple and cereal for fuel. Even with his glasses, his eyes had begun to blur with exhaustion. His gimp hand had improved over the years, but he rarely pushed this hard, and it would not stop shaking. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. It should not be this hard; he had drawn this figure for years. Maybe time had finally smudged the edges of his memory.

 

Dark shadows crowded his studio as the sun's last rays disappeared over the building across the street. He stood slowly, turning off the desk lamp. Silken fur wrapped around his ankles, and he smiled down at the blue eyes glowing in the twilight.

 

"Sorry, girl. Did I forget to feed you today?"

 

The Siamese stared back, tail twitching. He had adopted Henrietta a year ago after splitting with Adam. The nights were a little less lonely with her warm body sharing the bed.

 

"Yeah, I did. Let's get you something."

 

He entered the kitchen, flipping on the lights as he went. After filling the cat's bowl, he stared into the nearly empty refrigerator containing a gallon of milk, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of bread. _Shit, I was supposed to get groceries today._ The cell phone rang as he slammed the door shut. Recognizing the ringtone, he grabbed it from the counter.

 

"Hey, Sam, what's up?"

 

"What are you doing tonight, Justina?"

 

Justin laughed. He had lived with Samantha when he first came to New York, and they had jokingly placed a gender switch on each other's name.

 

"Guess I'll be making a late trip to the market. Got too absorbed in doodling and forgot to buy food."

 

"Again? Maybe you need to move back in with me. You're going to starve on your own." When they had lived together, Justin had cooked while Samantha bought the food. The arrangement suited them both.

 

"I only just moved here a year ago! I don't have the energy to move again."

 

"Well, somebody's got to take care of you now that the asshole is gone."

 

Justin sighed. "Adam wasn't an asshole, Sam. It just didn't work out, okay?"

 

"But you guys were together for six years! Never mind, I swore I wouldn't bring it up anymore. My apologies, Michelangelo."

 

"It's okay. I know you're just looking out for me." She had certainly done so when he first arrived in New York, showing him around and introducing him to her friends. He would not have made it without her.

 

"Well, since you don't have anything to eat anyway, how about meeting me for dinner at Josie's? I've got a surprise for you."

 

"It's late, Sam. I haven't even showered today."

 

"So wear PJ's if you want, I don't care. Just come, please. I swear you'll like it."

 

A distraction could only be helpful at this point, and he _was_ hungry. "All right. In about an hour?"

 

"Great! See you there!"

 

He showered quickly before throwing on jeans and a t-shirt. It was warm for April, and Josie's was only a twenty-minute walk. He passed the studio on the way to the front door and stopped to grab the sketch. Carefully, he placed it in a red folder on the corner of his desk. With a scratch behind the ears for Henrietta, he was gone.

 

###

 

Josie's was a casual restaurant that reminded Justin of the Liberty Diner. It was two buildings down from Sam's apartment, which Justin had shared when he first came to New York. They had spent many a meal laughing over burgers and fries, not to mention Josie's deluxe sundae. Years later, they continued to dine together frequently, catching up on each other's lives.

 

Sam waved from a booth in the back as he entered, but it was her companion that caught Justin's attention. His face split into a wide grin as he threaded his way through the tables to the back of the diner.

 

"Daph!"

 

His best friend from Pittsburgh engulfed him in an enthusiastic hug.

 

"Justin!" She pulled back to take in his appearance. "God, look at you! You still look all of twenty-five, damn it! Although your hair seems to have gotten darker."

 

"Sam calls it a dirtier blond, which is probably how she envisions my sex life." He laughed, slipping into the booth across from Sam and Daphne. "But you seem barely older yourself! You look great, Daphne."

 

"Thanks." She smiled, running her hand over curly hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. "I'm visiting Sam for the week, and I had to see you too!"

 

"I would have been pissed if you hadn't." Justin removed his glasses and set them aside on the table. "So how's life in the emergency room?"

 

"Better now that I'm a senior resident. I get to boss around the first years instead of doing the crap work.” Daphne chuckled. "But my life isn't nearly as exciting as yours. Did you know your comic strip, _Maddie_ , finally reached the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette? You're famous!"

 

Justin had begun the comic strip, _Maddie_ , five years earlier. It centered on a ten-year-old girl named Maddie, who lived with her two gay fathers. After gaining popularity on the east coast, it was now attracting the attention of major newspapers across the country.

 

"Well, it's mainly a cash cow to fund my other projects," said Justin. "Gives me the financial stability to work on my other art without living in the streets."

 

"As if," muttered Sam. "You know you're always welcome back if you need a home."

 

"Thanks, Sam, but I'm fine in Chelsea. There are lots of galleries within walking distance of my apartment, so it's perfect."

 

"Better now that Adam is gone, also."

 

Daphne glanced between them. "What did happen to Adam, Justin, if you don't mind me asking? Sam told me last year that you two broke up quite suddenly."

 

Justin avoided her piercing gaze, fiddling with his napkin. "It just didn't work out. No special reason, really. We just realized we were very different."

 

"Ha." Sam glared at him. "You told me you guys were fighting, and he wasn't being very understanding about giving you space."

 

"We had some disagreements, okay? Enough said."

 

Fortunately, the waiter appeared to take their order, saving Justin from more questions, but he did not miss Daphne's concerned look. _I'm in trouble later_.

 

The food was delicious, as always, and they talked about Sam's current internship in a Wall Street firm. Daphne told gory stories from her time in the E.R. until they begged her to stop before they vomited their meals. Justin relaxed, enjoying the conversation. It had been three years since he last saw Daphne, and he had not realized how much he missed her.

 

"Want to come see my apartment?" he asked her while they waited for their checks. "I can drive you guys back to Sam's later."

 

"I got a lot of work to do for work tomorrow, but you kids go ahead," said Sam.

 

"I would love to see your place!" said Daphne. "Chelsea sounds like such a cool area to live." They bid goodbye to Samantha and headed to Justin's Corolla.

 

Justin drove them to his townhouse, talking about the pieces he had recently shown at a local gallery. Daphne gazed out her window enraptured, taking in the sights of New York.

 

"Wow, it's so different from the Pitts. I can't believe you don't get lost here."

 

"I did at first. Even after eleven years, I still don't know where everything is."

 

As they entered the apartment, Henrietta pounced on Daphne's feet from the stairs leading up from the foyer.

 

"Oh, how cute! What's her name?"

 

"Henrietta. Her head's a bit too big for her tail, so if she gets too pushy, just nudge her aside." Justin chuckled, tossing his keys on the console by the door. "She's got the idea that she's boss of the house."

 

Daphne followed him upstairs, gushing praise at the sight of the living room, decorated in shades of burgundy and black. The furniture was of modern design with an Oriental[M1]  feel. "Your place is so much better decorated than mine. I'm so rarely home, I haven't really bought more than the essentials."

 

"It's a nice neighborhood. Many gay people live here, and everything I need is within walking distance. I only bought the car for my work and visiting friends."

 

"Where did you live when you were with Adam?"

 

"A couple streets over. He still lives there, but I've been lucky enough to never run into him." Justin turned away, clearly wanting to end any discussion of his ex-boyfriend. "Want some coffee?"

 

"Sure." Daphne went to the window and looked outside. "You know I'm going to ask you what really happened, don't you?"

 

A sigh mixed with the clatter of dishes. "Of course, you are. There's nothing to tell though."

 

"Uh huh."

 

Daphne wandered into what was clearly Justin's studio. An unfinished canvas rested on an easel in the corner next to a side table covered with bottles of paint. Corkboards covered the walls, adorned with notes and drawings. An assortment of sketches littered the desk, most of which were rough drafts of his comic strip. She skimmed through them, admiring Justin's minimalist style, as well as his wit and humor. The comic strip had garnered a great deal of attention both within and without the gay community. Same-sex parents were still rare, and _Maddie_ dealt with gay issues in a subtle but witty fashion.

 

A red folder lay neatly in the upper corner of the desk, and she opened it curiously. It was full of sketches done in pencil, some very rough and some finely detailed. The subject, however, was the same on every page, and it was enough to set Daphne's heart pounding.

 

Very carefully, she drew the sketches from the folder and began to shuffle slowly through them. Every page was dated at the bottom and in consecutive order with the most recent on top. The last page had been drawn nine years earlier. In some, the person was clothed, and in others, he was nude, but always, he was as beautiful as she remembered.

 

It was Brian Kinney.

 

"Coffee's ready."

 

Daphne whirled around, flushing guiltily with the sketches still in her hand. Justin froze when he saw what she held. Their eyes met in one long look before he hurried forward, snatching the papers, and shoving them back into the folder.

 

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," Daphne stammered. "I was just admiring your comic strips, and I thought there were more in the folder."

 

"It's okay," Justin said, although it clearly was not.

 

He led her back to the living room, handing her a mug before taking a seat on the sofa. She sat next to him, trying to assimilate what she had just seen.

 

She had been certain Justin was over Brian. As far as she knew, they had not seen each other in ten years. In all that time, Justin had never mentioned him once, and Daphne had politely avoided the subject. She had wondered, of course, but the mere mention of Brian's name was enough to shut Justin down, ending any conversation.

 

Those sketches were more than a simple reminiscence. The sheer number of them bordered on obsession. Whatever Justin might say about Brian, he clearly had not forgotten his former lover.

 

"I'm sorry, Justin. I truly didn't mean to pry."

 

Justin ran the tip of his finger slowly around the rim of his mug, biting his lower lip.

 

"I've never shown those to anyone," he said softly. "Adam found them, however."

 

"Is that why he left?"

 

"Sort of." He sighed and set his coffee down on the coffee table. "There's more, of course."

 

The ensuing silence was awkward. Long ago, Justin would have poured out his heart without a second thought, but they had not seen each other in a long time, although they kept in touch through email. Would he be offended if she persisted? Daphne took a deep breath and plowed forward.

 

"Justin, what happened between you and Brian? If you don't want to talk about it, I understand, but the two of you were about to marry, and then you moved to New York. A year later, you told me it was over."

 

Justin slouched back on the sofa, propping his feet on the table. For a moment, she felt certain he would change the subject, but he swallowed and lifted his face to meet her gaze.

 

"He pushed me away after I came here. We stayed in touch for a while, but he called less and less, always making excuses for not coming to visit. Finally, he stopped returning my calls altogether." He closed his eyes. "I tried . . . . _pleaded_ with him to call me. God, I was so upset."

 

He rubbed his eyes, and Daphne reached out to take his hand. "I loved him, Daphne, but it wasn't enough. I thought we could manage our relationship, even long distance, but I was wrong."

 

"And then you met Adam."

 

"Yeah." Justin opened his eyes, smiling wistfully. "He was like a breath of fresh air, you know? And completely different from Brian. He believed in the importance of family, in the sanctity of monogamy. He wasn't afraid to show affection or to say _I love you_. I thought, with him, I had finally found someone I could share my life with. We bought a townhouse together, and we were happy. _Truly_ happy. I didn't forget Brian, but I moved on . . . put him behind me."

 

Daphne thought of the sketches. "Except when you drew pictures of him."

 

Justin nodded. "Every now and again, I would have a dream or a memory just hit me out of the blue. The only way to get it out of my mind, get _him_ out of my mind, was to draw. It was like yanking my feelings out by the root and depositing it on the paper, you know? Then it would disappear, and I could move on without thinking of him anymore."

 

"Did Adam know about him?"

 

"I told him about my previous boyfriend, of course. It wasn't a secret. I didn't ever show him the sketches though. That was for me and only for me."

 

Daphne sipped her coffee. "So what did happen with Adam then?"

 

Justin took in a deep breath, running his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the memories. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling. His eyes never left the floor.

 

"It was at a wedding for one of Adam's friends here in New York. The ceremony was beautiful, and the reception was very fancy. The bride's parents had a lot of money, and they went all out. After the meal, they cut the cake, and then it was time for the bride and groom's first dance. I remember sitting at the table in the back, and I was holding hands with Adam. Then they started playing the song, and Daphne, it was _the song_."

 

His gaze lifted to fix on Daphne's, and immediately, she knew which song he meant. There could only ever be one song that significant for Justin.

 

" _Save the Last Dance for Me_ ," she whispered.

 

"The very same one. Daphne, you know I had no memory of that dance after Chris Hobbs bashed my head, except for later when I remembered Brian calling my name and turning around to see the bat. I had never been able to recover that memory. But Daphne, that night, I _remembered_."

 

Daphne recalled how hard she and Brian had tried to help Justin recover his memory of that night, how frustrated Justin had been when they failed. She could not imagine how it must have felt to regain it all at once.

 

"I was watching the bride and groom dance, but the entire time, I never saw them. I saw Brian smiling at me, and God, he was _beautiful_. He took off that white scarf, placed it around my neck, and we danced as we never had at Babylon. I remembered every step, every twirl, as if it was happening right there in front of me. The whole time, he was smiling just for me, and it was heaven. Then at the end, he kissed me, and I remember thinking, it can never get any better than this. I thought, let them look, let them see that this gorgeous man is here for _me_ , Justin Taylor."

 

Daphne remembered it well, the enraptured look on Justin's face as Brian held him in his arms. She had thought it was the most loving thing she had ever seen.

 

"Then it all shattered. I was back at the wedding, and Adam was kneeling in front of me, shaking my arms. He looked so scared, and I asked him what was wrong. He said, 'Are you kidding me? What happened? You've been in some kind of a weird trance.' He pulled me to my feet and dragged me out of there. People were staring at us, but nobody said anything."

 

"He wanted to take me to the hospital because he thought I had suffered a seizure. I told him to take us home, and I would explain. He knew the story about my bashing, but only in general details. I told him all of it: about Brian, the dance, and what happened after. He didn't say much, but I thought he understood."

 

Justin took in a shaky breath and took a sip of coffee. He seemed to notice that Daphne was holding his hand for the first time and gave it a squeeze.

 

"I'm afraid I went into kind of a funk after that. For a few weeks after the wedding, I wasn't entirely myself. I wanted to be alone a lot, and I spent a lot of time thinking about that night. I admit, I thought about Brian too, but not in a regretful way. I was just replaying memories in my mind of our relationship. It wasn't like I was considering getting back together with him."

 

"Well, that's understandable," said Daphne. "You tried so hard to remember that dance, and it really bothered you that you couldn't. Suddenly, there it is. Of course, you want some time to comprehend it."

 

"Adam wasn't so sympathetic. He accused me of wishing I were still with Brian, instead of him. Then one night while I was out, he went through my things. He found that folder, the one with the sketches of Brian. When I got home, he was in a rage . . . said I was pining for my long lost lover, and he'd be damned if he was going to live with someone who loved someone else. I told him how stupid he was being, that it was _him_ I loved. I explained that I was just trying to put my memories in perspective, now that I had recovered all of them. He didn't believe me."

 

"So he left."

 

"Yes."

 

Justin bent over his lap, closing his eyes. Daphne reached out her arm and pulled him close. He tensed at first, and then relaxed, laying his head on her shoulder.

 

"Sorry. I shouldn't have told that story your first night here. Kind of a downer, isn't it?"

 

She smiled. "You should hear my pathetic relationship stories. I've been through three boyfriends in ten years and still haven't found my Mr. Right."

 

He chuckled ruefully. "You sound like Sam."

 

"Maybe Sam and I should become lesbians and move in together. It would be so much easier."

 

They both laughed at that, and the subject turned to less depressing things. By the time Justin drove Daphne back to Sam's, his mood had lightened considerably. He offered to take Daphne and Sam to a club in the Meatpacking District the following night, and she enthusiastically agreed. It was only her second time in New York, and she looked forward to experiencing the nightlife. After exchanging a chaste kiss on the cheek, she headed into Sam's apartment building, and Justin drove back home.

 

He started to head directly to his bedroom but stopped at the doorway to the studio. After staring at his desk for a moment, he finally went in and opened the red folder, pulling out the sketches of Brian. Sitting in the chair, he slowly looked over each drawing, lost in memories of another time; another Justin . . . a Justin who believed in love at first sight, who believed that love was worth fighting for. Had he really given up so easily?

 

_I tried. He didn't want to see me anymore. What more could I have done?_

 

He sighed, placing the papers back in the folder. It made no sense to berate himself over something that ended eleven years ago. He had moved on then, and maybe it was time to _really_ move on, time to stop drawing pictures of a lover who had forgotten him.

 

He tossed the folder on the desk, and resolutely turned out the light, pulling down the blinds over the window. Heading for bed, he turned his mind to thoughts of tomorrow and spending more time with Daphne. He had not been to a club in a few years and looked forward to dancing again.

 

###

 

Outside, the streetlights cast pools of luminescence across the quiet street. Underneath one lamp, the faint glow of a lighter appeared as a dark figure lit a cigarette. The man wore a long, black coat, and his eyes were fixed on the window that had just gone dark. He stood there for a long time just watching and smoking, a mere shadow among many others. Finally, he dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the sidewalk. Moving down the street, he reached a busy intersection and hailed a taxi.

 

"Eventi Hotel, please."

 

It was very late, and he had an important meeting with a new account at 9 A.M. No trip to New York, however, began without a stop in Chelsea. Few things took precedence over business, especially in recent years, but one man had broken through all his rules long ago.

 

_It's only time._

And Brian Kinney did not forget.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Special thanks go to Zevgirl for her expertise and support in editing my work.

"Well, Mr. Kinney, I'm very glad that you came all the way to New York to conclude our business."

 

Brian reached across the mahogany table to shake the other man's hand, stunning smile perfectly in place. "The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Fields. Now that you've signed with Kinnetik, I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

 

"Please, call me Will." William Fields, owner of Shenanigan Clothes, tilted his head, shrewdly assessing Brian. "If your projections for our sales hold true, we'll be racking in the dough. I think you've earned a little gratitude from us."

 

"Your business is all the thank-you I require," said Brian. Was the man flirting with him? William Fields was handsome enough for a man in his fifties, and Brian had suspected his homosexuality when they first shook hands, but it had been a while since he satisfied his clients in such a manner. _I may be over forty, but I haven't quite reached the point where I have to pander to gray-haired playboys._

"I understand you own a nightclub."

 

The smile never left his face, but Brian's eyes narrowed. What was this guy's angle? "That's correct. Babylon."

 

"I own a club of my own, in fact. It's located in Chelsea, called The Playroom."

 

Chelsea. Brian was too experienced to let his expression slip, but the hand resting on his knee clenched.

 

"Sounds interesting. If you're . . . um . . . inviting me, however, I'm afraid I have to beg off. It's been a long day."

 

"Oh, come now." William Fields leaned forward in his chair. "I'll buy you a drink. If dancing's not your thing, you're welcome to relax at the bar. The club is frequented by both gays and straights, so there's plenty of eye candy to go around." He winked, his smirk leaving no doubt he knew who Brian preferred. "I checked, and your flight isn't until tomorrow at noon, so you'll have plenty of time to sleep it off."

 

 _Damn it._ "Well then, sounds like fun, Will. Shall I meet you there at say, nine?" _And beat it out of there first chance I get._

 

"Perfect! Feel free to use the valet parking. I'll tell my people to expect you." They both rose and shook hands. "See you tonight, Brian."

 

As the elevator doors closed, Brian leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. _Well, at least the chances of running into anyone I know are slim, since it caters to both gay and straight people_. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, deliberately not thinking of the one person he wished to avoid. _Next time there's an account in New York, I'm sending Ted to handle it_.

 

###

 

The knock on the door sent Henrietta leaping off the sofa toward the stairs. Justin took one last look in the bathroom mirror and headed downstairs to the foyer, nudging the cat aside.

 

"Well, look at you," laughed Sam, stepping inside with Daphne. "I'm trying to remember the last time I saw you dressed up."

 

Justin blushed, closing the door. "I'm not dressed up! It's just a nice shirt and black jeans."

 

"Well, it's pretty hot," said Daphne, running her hand over the shirt's silky blue material. "Matches your eyes."

 

"Maybe he'll land a trick tonight." Sam peered into the mirror hanging by the stairs, checking her makeup. "A lay would do him good."

 

Justin rolled his eyes. "I'm not looking for a date when I'm already bringing two women with me." He led them upstairs to the living room.

 

"That's right," said Sam. "The guys might think you're hetero."

 

"The club's attended by gays and straights," said Justin. "I wouldn't drag you to a gay place when you're not gay."

 

"Damn," muttered Daphne. "And here I wanted to ogle guys I knew wouldn't be hitting on me."

 

"We going to The Playroom, Justina?" Sam scratched Henrietta behind the ears. "Heya, cutie. Been watching over Justin for me?"

 

"Well, I know how much you love that place," said Justin. "Figured Daphne would like it as well." He moved over to the coffee table and handed Daphne a paper. "By the way, Daph, I'll be in the Pitts in three weeks. The Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts is holding an exhibit by yours truly. They just confirmed the date today."

 

"Really?" Daphne skimmed the letter, grinning. "That's fantastic! You haven't been home in forever." Suddenly, she frowned, looking up. "Wait a minute. PIFA? You're going to let them host a show of your work after what they did to you?"

 

Justin smirked, taking back the letter. "Of course! What better way to slap them in the face then to exhibit my art at the very place I was expelled? I'll make sure to mention how devastated I was to take my art elsewhere."

 

"And all because they didn't support freedom of expression." Daphne laughed. "Devious, Justin!"

 

Samantha wrapped an arm around Justin's shoulders. "That's our Justin! Always sticking it up someone's ass." At their collective groan, she grinned. "Let's go party, peeps!"

 

###

 

The Playroom resembled Babylon in all its glory: glittering strobe lights, pulsing bass, sweaty bodies gyrating against each other in barely concealed lust. The sight of long hair and breasts spilling from their bras provided a different spectacle than what Brian usually saw, however. Here, gay couples mingled with straight ones and neither seemed to care who rubbed against who. It was Tops Off night, where the removal of your shirt earned you a discount on drinks. Even the women participated, baring their designer brassieres for the world to admire.

 

Breasts held little interest for Brian, but he always enjoyed viewing well-toned pecs. He leaned over the balcony railing where he stood next to William Fields, both of them holding shots of Jack Daniels. If Brian had held any doubts as to Will's intentions, they had long since disappeared. The man had brushed up against his side enough times to wear a hole in Brian's sleeve. The more Will drank, the more his ingratiating smile morphed into a leer.

 

"Buy you another?" He leaned backward over the balcony wall, trying to catch Brian's wandering eye. At some point, he had unbuttoned his shirt to the waist, exposing a muscled chest worthy of a man ten years younger.

 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to have a look around," said Brian. He offered Will a friendly smirk, meant to pacify without encouraging more attention.

 

"Of course. Take your time. Drinks are on me." If Will was angry at Brian's retreat, he hid it well. With a lascivious wink, Will turned back to the bar behind them to speak with the bartender.

 

Brian wandered downstairs, losing himself in the dancing crowd. This was his place, his element. The beat of the music was the pulse of his blood, and he closed his eyes, giving into the rhythm. Raising his arms, he swayed his hips, giving his entire body to the song. When he opened his eyes again, more than a few men had surrounded him, close enough to touch but still giving him a respectful distance. He returned their lazy smiles and with a simple gesture, invited them into his space.

 

Skin caressed skin in teasing, feathery touches. Brian felt fingers unbuttoning his shirt while other hands behind him whisked it away. Bodies moved closer, eyes burning with lust. Brian wondered vaguely if The Playroom had a back room like Babylon's and was tempted to ask one of the delectable gentlemen grinding their erections against his hip. He had not engaged in a sexual act in a public place for at least three years, but what the hell. Maybe the time had come to treat himself, and unlike Pittsburgh, he did not know anyone here.

 

He scanned the edges of the dance floor, searching for a back hall or restroom entrance while a twenty-something brunette hooked his fingers in the loops of Brian's jeans. Pulling Brian toward him, he pressed his substantial erection along Brian's and swirled his hips. Brian started to turn his head and bestow his attention on the eager young man, when he spotted a head of blond hair above a pert nose he knew far too well. There would never be any mistaking that face or that body, regardless of time's passing.

 

Everything stopped except for the persistent beat of the music. Every muscle froze except the beat of Brian's heart, relentlessly following the pounding bass around him.

 

 

_Blue eyes fasten securely on him, following his lead as they twirl around the gym, past a sea of blurred faces. He almost trembles at the trust in such simple movements, first steps taken together into the unknown._

Thump.

 

_Legs spattered with a fine down of pale hair wrap tightly about his waist. His lips hover over the arched neck below him, his tongue tracing the path of a single bead of sweat to the hollow at the base. Fingers tangle in his hair, yanking sharply as hips jerk up to meet his every thrust._

Thump.

 

_The boy keeps his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes darting from side to side as people pass. Then he glances up, sees Brian with arms outstretched, and he smiles. The smile lights his whole face and lifts his chin as he defiantly closes the last few feet into the waiting embrace._

Thump.

 

_He turns one last time, one last look. His entire stance asks a single question, a question Brian is not ready to answer, may never be ready. He would give this kid the world if he could, but he cannot give something that does not exist. The boy turns away, taking the hand of another, passing from light into the dark. He does not see the life bleeding from Brian, from the wound he left behind._

Thump.

 

_Those beautiful lips are twisted with fury, and the boy lashes out, shoving him backward. He does not know which is worse, the pain in his groin or the pain in those sky-blue eyes. Curses rain around his head, and he bows beneath their weight, defeated by his own blindness. The boy is so strong, much stronger than Brian will ever be. He leans on that strength, makes it his own, and the fear ebbs away with the tide . . . the cancer beaten by the work of two hearts, instead of one._

Thump.

 

_Coming down from orgasm is always a sad journey, a fall from the highest high back down to the mundane. This time is worse, because tears await them both, and he brushes them away with as much determination as sorrow. As long as they both believe, this does not have to be the end. As long as he holds on, arms and legs wrapped securely around his lover's body, it cannot be over. Nevertheless, reality has ever cheated him. When he wakens, his body is cold, and he is alone._

It was this memory, this final one that snapped him out of his lapse in time. He still felt the other bodies pressed close, but they were nothing but empty husks. The only one in this room who mattered had not yet seen him, and therefore, it was not too late.

 

_Time to go._

 

He grabbed his shirt from one of his companions and offered an apologetic smile. The man lifted an eyebrow, shrugged, and then turned away. Without bothering to don the shirt, Brain pushed his way through the throng, his eyes fastened on the entrance. He did not look back, did not want to take the risk of finding familiar eyes staring at him.

 

He almost made it too, but William Fields had other plans.

 

"Brian! Leaving so soon? I was hoping we could share one more drink in my office before you left . . . ."

 

###

 

Sam wasted no time removing her shirt, revealing a Victoria's Secret scarlet bra. Justin just laughed; he had come here often with Sam when they lived together and knew she had few inhibitions when it came to getting more drinks. Daphne, on the other hand, stood in open-mouthed shock.

 

"Sam! Are you crazy?"

 

Sam winked. "Honey, why should the men get to bare their chests and not us? Fifty-cent drinks!" Tying her shirt around her waist, she sauntered over to the bar, swaying her hips seductively beneath her black miniskirt.

 

Daphne shook her head and turned to Justin. "Well, are you going to toss your shirt, too?"

 

"Maybe later."

 

 _It Began in Afrika_ started to play over the speakers, and Justin grabbed Daphne's hand.

 

"Remember this one? Let's dance!"

 

Justin guided her out to the floor, making space among the writhing bodies. Grinning at each other, they began to dance, bouncing to the hypnotic beat.

 

"God, I remember this song!" yelled Daphne over the music. "Know what it reminds me of?"

 

"Babylon!” Justin shouted. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as he lost himself in the rhythm. For a moment, he was transported to another time, another place where lights flashed and swirled. He had been so young then, so naive, but he missed that innocence. Life had been so full of possibilities back then.

 

Smiling at the memory, he opened his eyes, reaching out to catch Daphne's hand, but stopped when he saw she was not moving. She stared through the crowd, her face frozen in shock, and he figured Sam must be up to her usual antics.

 

"What now?"

 

He followed her line of sight, expecting to see Samantha grinding with several guys, as she often did, but Sam was nowhere in sight. Instead, two men were standing near the door, deep in conversation. Justin did not recognize the well-dressed older man, but the shirtless one drew his eye immediately.

 

"Brian," he whispered.

 

It was impossible. It was _wrong._ New York was _his_ place, free from any memory of Brian, who had never visited here. He had risen from the ashes of their broken relationship to build a new life here, far from Pittsburgh.

 

There could be no denying who it was, however. Even after eleven years, Brian Kinney carried a presence practically oozing self-confidence and sex. His muscles were still well toned, his skin tan and healthy. His jeans clung tightly, promising an equally built ass. Justin noticed many an eye, both male and female, fixed on Brian.

 

He suddenly became aware of Daphne regarding him, frowning with concern.

 

"Justin?" She glanced toward Brian. "Are you okay?"

 

He breathed deep, filling his lungs and mind with fresh air. Everything clicked hard into place, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

 

"Here." He unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to her.

 

"Justin, what are you doing?" She clutched it to her chest as if she could hold him in place, as well.

 

"Getting some closure," he replied.

 

He squeezed her shoulder, offering a tight smile in reassurance. Only Daphne could possibly know the depths of what Justin had gone through in his five years with Brian. He understood her worry, but he needed to do this.

 

Keeping his eyes fixed on the two men, he began slowly dancing his way across the room, shimmying his hips and brushing suggestively against the men he passed. Appreciative eyes turned his way, admiring his physique, but he spared none of them a glance.

 

The older man was clearly trying to coax Brian to the dance floor, but Brian kept pulling away, shaking his head. Justin managed to approach from behind Brian, continuing to sway while listening to the conversation grow louder as Brian protested to his companion.

 

"I really do need to be going, Will. Maybe I can take a rain check for next time?"

 

"Ah, Brian, come upstairs to my private lounge. Just for a little while. I promise you a good time." Will brushed a palm over Brian's bare chest, trailing his fingers over the nipples.

 

"Not this time. I'm not feeling very well."

 

Just then, Will's eyes flicked to Justin a few feet behind Brian. "Well now, what have we here? Perhaps, if I include this sexy young thing, you might be interested?"

 

Brian turned slowly, his jaw set, as if he knew what was waiting for him. Justin had only a moment to wonder if Brian had already seen him, and then they were face to face for the first time in over a decade.

 

New lines lurked in the corners of Brian's eyes, but they were still the color of caramel, sweet and soft. His full lips crooked in a familiar self-mocking smile, the one he wore when he knew he had disappointed someone . . . as if disappointment even approached the cliff's edge he thrown Justin over.

 

Justin went very still, hands balled into fists to keep himself under control. Will was scrutinizing him over Brian's shoulder, but his presence was insignificant.

 

"Hi." Brian's voice was so soft, the music nearly drowned it.

 

God, but he wanted to touch! Justin had been so confident of his self-control, but now he was standing here only a breath away from the man he had loved with everything he had. Brian's nearness threatened to tear him apart, and he could not allow that to happen. He had passed through that fire already, leaving only ice.

 

"Fuck. You."

 

Well, it was not an epiphany, but it got the point across. Justin felt a sliver of satisfaction as a shadow passed over Brian's frozen smile. Turning on his heel, he walked away, letting his ass finish the message, even as his heart shriveled. Revenge never felt as good as people said.

 

Daphne was waiting for him, Sam at her side holding a beer. He plastered a grin on his face to hide the poison boiling under his skin.

 

"Thanks for holding my shirt." Daphne handed it over wordlessly, too tactful to comment.

 

Sam, however, had never had a delicate mouth. "What the hell was _that_? Daphne said that gorgeous guy you were talking to is the legendary Brian of yore."

 

Justin had forgotten that Samantha had never met Brian, even though Justin had told her all about his lover in Pittsburgh when he first came to New York.

 

"That was me giving him the goodbye I should have given him eleven years ago," he said.

 

Buttoning his shirt, he glanced back to see the results of his "closure", but Brian was gone, and the older gentleman was climbing the stairs to the second floor balcony.

 

"Good riddance," muttered Daphne.

 

Justin wrapped his arm around her shoulders, grateful for the loyalty and friendship she had given him over the years. Not everything from Pittsburgh left a bad taste in his mouth.

 

"Let's dance."

 

Sam set down her beer and the three friends joined hands, walking out on the dance floor. Together, they partied the night away, laughing and retelling old stories. By the time they left, drunk and loose-limbed with exhaustion, Justin had managed to forget the shards of love lying strewn across the floor.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Zevgirl for editing this!

The newspaper lay on his desk when he returned from lunch at the diner. Folded in half, it displayed a single article with bold headlines: “Justin Taylor Returns to Hometown for Exhibit at PIFA.”

His neck flared a deep shade of crimson. Who had left this here? Cynthia? Ted? No one else at Kinnetik would even dare. Without bothering to read further, he punched a button on his phone.

 

"Cynthia? I expect both you and Ted in my office in five. No excuses."

 

He yanked off his tie, feeling suddenly constricted and trapped. He had not mentioned Justin's name in years. Now, in the space of two weeks, he had run into the boy— _man_ —and received an article about him. The carefully constructed bubble of his life was taking a beating.

 

Ted and Cynthia entered a few moments later, understandably apprehensive. Brian was generous to his employees, but they had to endure his occasional tempers, none of which were pretty.

 

Brian turned the article around so it was facing them and rested his palms on the desk, eyes flicking between them in a steely glare.

 

"Which one of you is responsible for this?"

 

After sharing a glance, they leaned forward to read the title. Cynthia gasped, while Ted pressed his lips together to prevent himself from doing the same.

 

"Well?"

 

Ted shook his head. "Wasn't me, Bri, I swear. I had no idea Justin was even coming to town. I haven't spoken to him since he left years ago."

 

Brian swiveled his head, narrowing his eyes at Cynthia.

 

"Brian, I had no idea . . . I let Michael in here while you were gone, but I didn't know he was planning on leaving anything for you."

 

Brian fell into his chair, the fury draining from him with a sigh.

 

"Michael? He left this?"

 

"It must have been him. No one else has been in here all morning. I'm so sorry, Brian. He's your best friend, so I told him to go ahead."

 

Brian waved away her apology. "You couldn't have known. My apologies to you both for getting angry. I'll track down Mikey later."

 

Cynthia nodded and left the office, but Ted waited until she was out of earshot.

 

"Are you going?"

 

It was obvious he was referring to the exhibit.

 

"No. I hardly think it would be appropriate."

 

"Maybe he would enjoy seeing you."

 

"I said _no_ , Theodore. End of discussion."

 

Ted dropped his eyes to the floor respectfully and made his exit.

 

Brian logged into his computer and spent a wasted hour trying to work. He finally gave up, snatched his briefcase and the newspaper, and headed out to the main work area.

 

"Cynthia, I'm out of here for the day. Forward my calls to voicemail, please."

 

"Sure, boss." She watched him leave with a sympathetic grimace, thankful that she was not Michael Novotny-Bruckner.

 

###

 

Justin rubbed his stained shirtsleeve across his forehead, leaving a streak of blue behind. Dipping his paintbrush into his palette, he added a few more strokes of red, then stood back to examine the picture.

 

He had not used actual paint for some time, preferring the computer for detailed work. His gimp hand tended to falter after an hour of solid painting, meaning he needed to complete it in pieces. Fortunately, he had finished two months’ worth of _Maddie_ strips, allowing him plenty of time to work on this particular art.

 

He began this canvas the day after he saw Brian in The Playroom. Memories plagued him the entire night, and the idea for this picture had grown from hours of pacing his tiny apartment. Needless to say, Brian had been the direct inspiration for what had become his current obsession.

 

Daphne had stopped by the next day to check on him. He brushed aside her concerns, already busy sketching a rough draft of his idea.

 

"Well, you want to stay with me when you come to Pittsburgh? Or are you planning to stay with your mom?"

 

"If you're good with it, I'll stay with you. Mom and Tucker really don't have a room for me."

 

Daphne moved to sit beside him on the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder to see his sketchpad.

 

"You're always welcome at my place, you dork. It will be like old times!" She frowned at the drawing. "Is this going to be an abstract painting or something?"

 

"Not really." Justin smiled. "I'm kind of hoping it will make a point."

 

"And that would be?"

 

"Don't worry. When you see the finished product, I think you'll know."

 

After Daphne left, he posted the sketch on a wall in his studio and began the first strokes. He had worried he would not finish it in time, but now it was complete. Tomorrow, he would carefully package it for transport to Pittsburgh. He hoped to convince the institute to display it in a special place, secluded from his other work.

 

There was no guarantee the painting would be seen by who it was intended for, but Justin was willing to gamble.

 

_If Fate decides to mess with me again, I'm ready._

 

###

 

It was nearly dinnertime when Brian reached Michael's comic store, and it was deserted. _Good._ He flipped the sign on the door to “closed.”

 

"Mikey!" he yelled.

 

His best friend since high school appeared from the back room, holding a stack of comics. His face broke into its customary grin when he saw Brian.

 

"Brian! What are you doing here? It's not Babylon night." Michael accompanied Brian every Tuesday night to Babylon. It was their routine: a night together with no tricks or spouses.

 

Brian did not return the smile. Wordlessly, he held up the newspaper.

 

"Oh great! Did you read the article I left? Cool, huh?"

 

" _Cool?_ " Brian took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "You call it cool? What the hell you aiming at, Novotny?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, Novotny- _Bruckner_."

 

Michael took a step back, recognizing that his friend was skating the edge of a tantrum. No one could queen out like Brian when he got riled up.

 

"I thought . . . was _sure_ you'd be interested. I mean, the two of you were an item for five years."

 

Brian raised one finger threateningly. "First, we weren't an item. Second, I haven't talked to Justin in years. Why would you think I would be interested?"

 

Michael calmly placed the comics down, putting his hands on his hips.

 

"Well, if I wasn't sure, I am now. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be in here waving your finger at me. You going to punch me?"

 

 

"I have only ever punched you once."

 

"Over Justin, as I recall."

 

Brian dropped his eyes to the floor and sighed. "You crossed the line, Novotny."

 

"By doing what? Leaving a newspaper article in your office? If you don't want to read it, just throw it out! There's a trash can right there." Michael pointed at the black basket near the door.

 

Running a hand over his face, Brian closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he placed his hand hesitantly on Michael's shoulder.

 

"You're right. I'm sorry." He gave Michael a squeeze, offering an apologetic smile.

 

Michael leaned forward and placed a kiss on Brian's lips. _It's okay_.

 

"Look, how about you come home with me tonight? Ben's making this great linguini . . . ."

 

"Nah, but thanks anyway. I need to go home and finish some stuff for work. You go ravish Ben in my stead, okay?"

 

"Will do." Michael watched fondly as Brian left. It was not until later, when he locked up, that he realized Brian had taken the newspaper with him when he left.

 

###

 

The Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Art had renovated one of its display galleries for Justin's exhibit, using room dividers to section the room into different viewing areas. Visitors began by walking through his earlier works before the bashing, and then his digital art at PIFA, including, at Justin's insistence, his political posters denouncing Stockwell. Justin ensured that a placard near the posters explained why they resulted in his expulsion from the school. When the administrators balked, Justin threatened to withdraw his works, and the placard was placed exactly as he wished.

 

The next area highlighted his post-PIFA works, including the comic, _Rage_. Further, the focus turned to _Maddie_ and the mix of digital and conventional art he began employing in New York. At the very end of the circuit, a room was set apart and contained a single painting displayed in low lights. Here was the final canvas, the one he had recently completed.

 

Justin arrived early with Daphne, his mother, Tucker, and Molly. Dressed in a dark gray suit with a midnight blue shirt, he held still while Tucker took his picture with Molly, Jennifer, and Daphne. Justin followed along while they wandered through his exhibit, taking advantage of the gallery's emptiness before it opened to the public. Daphne giggled at the posters of Stockwell and the framed panels of _Rage_.

 

"God, that was a fun time back then, watching you draw this stuff while you were living with me."

 

Justin smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Good times. Remember how stoned we were that one night when . . . ." Jennifer turned sharply, and Justin quickly amended his words. "I mean, when we rocked all night to that music you made me listen to?"

 

Molly laughed, and Jennifer shook her head in despair. "It's a wonder you survived at all, but then, I guess Brian wasn't the best of influences," she said.

 

A silence fell. Justin looked away, expressionless, and only Daphne saw him clench his fists inside his pockets. Jennifer patted his arm contritely.

 

"I'm sorry, honey. I know you prefer to forget him."

 

Justin grimaced, unable to reply. Instead, he pushed forward, leading them to the New York pictures. Once there, he quietly watched as they scrutinized his more recent works. They had never seen many of these, and he acknowledged their praise with a casual shrug. Daphne moved the fastest, and before long, she entered the last area where his final painting hung.

 

Justin gave her a few minutes before entering. Daphne stood in the center of the space, just staring at the picture. Not wanting to startle her, he laid a hand on her shoulder as he came to her side.

 

"So? What do you think?"

 

"Is this what you were sketching the night after you saw Brian?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Wow, Justin." She stepped closer, taking in more of the details. "This is . . . stunning. Not to mention symbolic."

 

"It's supposed to be."

 

"You drew this for him, didn't you?"

 

"I drew it for myself. To purge the last of him from my mind."

 

She turned slowly, her expression so gentle, he wanted to run from it.

 

"And did it work?"

 

_Did it?_

 

"I don't know," he whispered.

 

###

 

Michael, Ben, and Debbie were one of the first to make it through the exhibit. Justin stood among the refreshment tables at the end, greeting visitors and accepting praise for his works. Even before he saw them, he heard the ear-splitting shriek echoing through the gallery.

 

"Sunshine!"

 

His namesake smile already in place, he excused himself from one of the institute instructors, and turned, arms outstretched, as Debbie flew into his arms.

 

She planted a resounding kiss on his cheek before pulling back and squeezing his face between her palms.

 

"Look at you! You still look like you're twenty! Don't people age in New York?"

 

"Don't people age here?" He laughed, running his hand over her flaming red wig. Her purple sequined dress had several rainbow brooches arrayed around her neckline. Yes, she was still the same Debbie.

 

"Pshh. I feel my age, trust me."

 

Michael and Ben came forward, surrounding Justin in a bear hug.

 

"You put my name on the _Rage_ exhibit!" Michael was ecstatic.

 

"Of course, I did. We were a team, remember?"

 

"Do you know, I still keep copies in the store, and people still buy them. There's never been another gay superhero since." He grew more serious. "You really should let me send you your half of the sales."

 

"Nah. Keep it, Michael. I'm good with _Maddie_."

 

"Your work is amazing, Justin," said Ben. "I like the references to gay culture you've woven into your art. If you ever have time, I would love to have you as a guest speaker in one of my classes."

 

"Thanks," said Justin, flushing. "I'll think about it and get back to you."

 

Jennifer and Tucker approached, joining the group and swapping greetings and hugs. Michael pulled Justin aside when Debbie started a long tale about Carl's last homicide case.

 

"I told him about your exhibit. Left the local newspaper article on his office desk."

 

Justin did not need to ask whom. "Let me guess. He told you off."

 

"Yeah, but you know how Brian is. He may still come."

 

"Actually, Michael, I don't know anything about him anymore. We haven't been in contact for eleven years. And I don't care if he comes or not."

 

"You think I don't know who that last painting is for?"

 

"Drop it, Michael."

 

"He's not exactly the same Brian Kinney. The change has been so subtle, even _I_ took a while to notice, but . . . ."

 

"Michael." Justin shot him a glare. "I don’t _care_." He turned his back and rejoined the group listening to Debbie.

 

A high-pitched yell of glee signaled Emmett's approach. Flamboyant as ever, he was dressed in tight leather pants with a neon purple button-down shirt. A black, sequined scarf draped his shoulders, matching the dark eyeliner around his eyes. Ted followed behind, dressed in a plain white sweater and khakis. Both gave Justin a hug, complete with a chaste kiss on the cheek from Emmett.

 

"Baby, look at you! The twink is all grown up!"

 

Justin grinned. "And the queen diva is as fashionable as ever."

 

"He's got a reputation to maintain, you know," said Ted, linking his arm with Emmett.

 

Justin's gaze flicked between the two. "Wait . . . are you guys together again?"

 

"Four years now." Emmett caressed Ted's arm fondly.

 

"I guess it was always destiny." Ted shrugged, but his nonchalance did not cover his satisfaction as he wrapped an arm around Emmett's waist.

 

"Guys, that's great." Justin smiled at the two happy couples: Michael and Ben, and Ted and Emmett. He was genuinely happy that they had found happiness, but it made him miss Adam.

 

Daphne came up behind him, tugging on his arm.

 

"Come here," she whispered in his ear.

 

Puzzled, he followed her toward the doorway exiting the gallery. From here, the beginning of the exhibit was visible around a large partition. She nodded toward the first area where his earliest art hung, and he peeked around the divider.

 

"He came."

 

Daphne sounded as surprised as Justin felt. He had not been certain Brian would come.

 

His former lover wore an Armani suit, tailored as always to fit Brian perfectly. At forty-five, he was still beautiful, with not a speck of gray in his hair.

 

Justin gestured to the others by the refreshments. "Can you keep them occupied here? I'll be back."

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

"Honestly? I'm not sure yet, but I'll figure it out."

 

Without another word, he took off, threading his way through the dividers out of sight of Brian. Daphne sighed but returned to the group as he had asked.

 

"Where's Justin?" asked Michael.

 

"I'm not sure," she replied. "Restroom, maybe?"

 

She changed the subject, asking about his comic store, always a safe topic with Michael. As she listened with half an ear, her thoughts flew elsewhere, hoping that Justin knew what he was doing.

 

###

 

The pictures of _Rage_ brought a smirk to Brian's lips. He wondered how many people knew who Rage was based on, not that it mattered. After Justin went to New York, the comic had ended, the last issue being the one where Rage and JT married.

 

 _The one marriage that happened._ He was surprised at the bitterness in that thought. After all, he had been as relieved as Justin to cancel the wedding. No regrets there; he was not made for monogamy. Marriage was for breeders, and he still believed that.

 

_Then why the ache, Kinney? Or you going to deny it as usual?_

 

Fuck, he did not need this now. Why had he come here? He had buried his history with Justin long ago, had accepted its end. Hell, the decision to end it had been _his_. He did not blame Justin for his animosity. Hadn't Brian deserved it?

 

He glanced behind him, toying with the idea of leaving, but there was a substantial crowd following along in a queue. Leaving would make more of scene than staying. Gritting his teeth, he moved on to the New York pictures.

 

He knew these works almost as well as he knew _Rage_. No one else knew, but he had followed Justin's career closely. He had visited several shows, when he knew Justin would not be present, and even gone to the galleries in New York where Justin's art was displayed and sold. He read every article in the newspapers and magazines. Before _Maddie_ made it into the Pittsburgh paper, he even had the New York Times delivered to his door, just to read each day's strip.

 

Going a step further, he had kept an eye on where Justin lived: from Samantha's apartment to Adam's, and then to the townhouse in Chelsea. A private detective kept him informed every six months on Justin's affairs . . . nothing too personal. He was not a voyeur and did not ask for pictures. The detective let him know if Justin was okay financially and in good health. Brian learned about Adam. He also knew they broke up, although not the reason why.

 

Most of these pictures were familiar, and he walked by, admiring Justin's style. The boy— _man_ —had done well for himself, exceeded every one of Brian's expectations. He had no right, but he was proud of the man Justin had become.

 

At the end of the exhibit was a final room, dimly lit with a single picture on display. A few people were just leaving as Brian walked in, leaving him alone with a painting he had never seen. The placard next to it listed the name as "Broken.”

 

Brian turned to the wall, acutely aware of the silence in this room, more so because the painting seemed to be practically screaming at him. He took in the images piece by piece, even as he felt everything inside break apart . . . piece by piece.

 

Two hands dominated the center of the canvas, the lines detailed so minutely, you could tell one was younger than the other. The fingers of each were linked together, palms facing up. A white scarf, stained with splotches of crimson, encircled the hands, from one wrist to the other. In the center of each palm lay a ring, both of them broken into two pieces. The background of the picture consisted of shadowy images blurred together, and Brian moved closer to inspect them.

 

They were scenes, all depicting two men: one tall and dark-haired, one short and blond. The faces were blurred, as was all the background, vague memories frozen in time. In some, the men were nude, locked in intimate embraces, and in others, they were clothed, engaged in some activity. In one, they were dressed in tuxedoes, dancing. In another, they hovered over a baby being held by the taller man. Yet another showed them playing pool, next to a scene where they sat in a booth eating.

 

The images blended together, wisps of a past Brian knew too well. The hands hung stark in the forefront. Adding to the complexity was the way the picture was rendered as if you were looking at it through a window. You could not see the frame or the windowsill, but there was the faint shimmer of glass, across which streamed raindrops, as if seen through a storm.

 

The painting was amazing, as well done as any Brian had seen. He harbored no doubt as to whom it was intended for, or what it was saying.

 

_It's us, torn apart. Nothing left but ghosts._

He wanted to smash it, throw it to the floor, and rip through the material with his bare hands. No one should see the remnants of something so personal. What had Justin been thinking?

 

_Does he have any idea how hard it was? Does he think he's the only one who suffered? And then to put it on display for all to see?_

 

Fuck, they all would see it, the entire family. Probably already _had_ seen it. Brian closed his eyes, struggling to hold it all under his skin.

 

"What do you think?"

 

His eyes flew open, and he was spinning around, sneer in place before he could even think. Justin was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

 

_Breathe in, breathe out._

"Astonishing. How much you selling it for?"

 

Justin narrowed his eyes. God, they were still beautiful. "It's not for sale."

 

"Really? Too bad. So much angst. So much agony. I'm sure many would pay a pretty penny for such raw emotion in a Taylor painting."

 

"As if you would know anything about agony."

                                                                                            

It took seven steps, seven _very_ restrained steps, to reach the man so casually mocking him. It almost took his breath away, being so close to Justin after so long. Brian could smell his aftershave, pick out the faint stubble along his jaw. He wanted to follow his instinct: bury his fingers in that soft hair and pull back Justin's head, bare his neck to Brian's lips . . . .

 

"What I know is I could shred your clothes and fuck you right here, and you _still_ wouldn't know anything about how I feel."

 

Justin's nostrils flared, eyes widening. _Weren't expecting that, were you?_

 

"Does everything have to be about fucking with you?"

 

"You have your way of expressing yourself." Brian gestured toward the painting. "And I have mine."

 

Justin swallowed, and Brian moved closer, his face now inches from Justin's. He could smell the other man's breath, a hint of wine and some unnamable spice.

 

"I'm sure you have no shortage of people willing to allow you to express yourself,” he said. “You never did."

 

Still defiant, not even giving an inch. Brian felt a sliver of pride, even now. Especially now.

 

"True." Brian leaned down, his lips almost touching Justin's, his breath teasing that perfect mouth. "But only one ever mattered."

 

He held himself still, waiting . . . daring Justin to make the next move. When nothing happened, Justin apparently stunned to silence, he smiled bitterly, backing away. The younger man never moved as Brian turned on his heel and left the room.

 

He spotted the family as soon as he entered the refreshment area. Michael's face lit up, but Brian simply shook his head and made a quick exit, ignoring the calls from Debbie and Emmett.

 

It was not until he reached outside that he finally slowed down. Leaning against the brick walls of the campus building, he withdrew a cigarette and lit up. He rarely smoked these days, but sometimes he simply needed it. Taking a long drag, he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl away in the night air.

 

 _Well, that went well._ Shaking his head, he walked around the corner to the back of the building and sank to his heels, back against the brick. Calm descended as he took another puff.

 

He closed his eyes in an attempt to banish the simmering fury, but all he could see was Justin's face, his lips parted in shock at Brian' words.

 

All these years . . . all these walls so carefully built to hold it all in, now lying crumbled on the ground.

 

 _I'm so fucked_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented on this or gave it kudos! Special thanks to Zevgirl for her feedback and editing.

Justin knelt on the floor, carefully wrapping his painting, "Broken”, in acid-free tissue paper. A pile of bubble wrap lay beside the crate in which the canvas had arrived. He was alone in the gallery, having promised PIFA's director that he would lock up when he had finished. It was after one A.M., and his eyes burned with exhaustion. The gallery had remained open until midnight, filled with people waiting to talk to Justin. His mouth still felt fixed in a permanent smile.

 

The showing was well attended, and he expected more this evening, the second and last night of the exhibit. He had no intention, however, of keeping this particular picture on display. After Brian left, he had spent twenty minutes staring at it until Daphne broke his reverie.

 

"Justin? What are you doing?" She glanced around, obviously searching for Brian, who had already left.

 

"Daphne, does this painting have too much . . . raw emotion?"

 

She looked from his face to "Broken.” "Well, I would say there's definitely a lot of symbolism, reflecting on how Brian hurt you." At his anguished expression, she backpedaled. "But only people who know you would see it, because we know your history with Brian, you understand?"

 

He nodded. "I think I'll take it down after tonight's show. Maybe it's a little too personal for this." After all, it had served its purpose.

 

Daphne had to work a night shift at the hospital, so she left her car at the institute for him and caught a ride with Jennifer and Tucker. The director expressed disappointment at Justin's request to remove the painting but acquiesced. He gave Justin a key, allowing him to remain after the gallery closed. They found the crate in a back room, and Justin was now preparing the canvas for storage.

 

Absorbed in placing each tissue paper correctly, he did not realize he was no longer alone until he reached for the bubble wrap. Seeing a dark shadow leaning against one of the partitions, he jumped up, heart racing.

 

"What's the matter? Change your mind about showing it?"

 

Brian. Justin let his breath out in a huff, but his heart never slowed.

 

"Why are you still here?" He turned back to the painting to hide the flush rising in his face.

 

"Well, I didn't want to take you away from all your admirers. So I waited until they left."

 

Justin did not answer. He laid out the plastic, unfolding it along the floor.

 

"Why are you putting it away?"

 

Fuck, why couldn't he just leave? "I figured you were right. It was too personal for the public to see."

 

"Especially when it was meant for me, anyway, right?"

 

Justin gritted his teeth. "You give yourself too much credit."

 

He went over to the picture and began to lift it, only to stumble when Brian moved quickly to the other side, grabbing it by the corners.

 

"Heavy, isn't it?" He followed Justin to the plastic and helped him lower the canvas.

 

"Thanks," Justin muttered. He grabbed the roll of tape and began laying down the strips.

 

Brian reclined on the floor, resting on his elbow. Digging in his coat pockets, he produced a cigarette and proceeded to light it, glancing toward the front of the gallery.

 

"Am I going to get in trouble for lighting up in here?"

 

Justin shrugged. "No one else here."

 

Brian took a drag and offered it to Justin. The younger man hesitated, started to reach for it, and then shook his head abruptly.

 

"I quit several years ago."

 

"So did I," said Brian, exhaling a satisfying stream of smoke. "Every once in a while, though, it hits the spot."

 

Justin could feel Brian's eyes boring into him, Rage's infamous telepathic rays struggling to decipher JT's thoughts. Unfortunately, JT had no superpowers, but he could still fake nonchalance.

 

"It was very good, you know . . . the painting. I wasn't prepared for that." Brian's voice was soft, almost seductive, as if the cigarette smoke added silk to his words.

 

Justin swallowed, his throat raw, his nerves raw. He was not prepared for _this_.

"I'm glad you liked it." _Now get the fuck out of here_.

 

The cigarette's scent tickled his nose, and his mouth watered, craving it, craving _him_. His gimp hand shook slightly, twisting the tape.

 

"Shit," he muttered.

 

"Need help?"

 

"What I need is for you to get out."

 

"Not until I clear up a little misconception."

 

"And that would be?"

 

"Do you truly think, because you're an artist, you're the only one who can feel pain?"

 

"I'm not the one who gave up. I'm not the coward."

 

Had he really forgotten how fast Brian could move? Within seconds, he was flat on the floor, grabbed from behind and shoved on his back, Brian hovering over him. Furious, he pushed back, but the larger man simply grabbed his wrists and forced them to either side of his head. Panting, Justin glared into the hazel eyes just inches from his own.

 

"I'm a coward, am I?" Brian hissed. "For doing what was best for you?"

 

"Breaking my heart was best for me?" Fuck, he wished he could take back the words, but they hung in the air like a cloud of bitter poison.

 

"I was saving your career, you little twat." Brian's fingers tightened on Justin's wrists, bruising the pale skin. "I was doing what you couldn't."

 

"Fuck you!" Justin writhed, struggling to break Brian's grip. His chest heaved, pain scalding his lungs. "You always think you know what's best for me. I'm not a child anymore, and I wasn't then either!"

 

Brian shifted, and Justin became acutely aware of their erections pressing against each other. Brian's face broke into a lecherous smile.

 

"Oh, I can tell you're anything but a _child_."

 

Before Justin could say more, Brian's lips crushed his, and his mind shorted out. Everything in Justin's body surged forward, seeking a memory, even an echo of what it remembered. Brian had been his first, and undoubtedly held the score for most copulations, as well. Everything about him: his scent, his skin, his taste, his voice; all of it was imprinted in every fiber of Justin's being. His brain never had a chance.

 

Fingers fumbled, pulling ruthlessly at clothes while their mouths never stopped. Nails scratched at Justin's ass, yanking his briefs down while Brian's other hand clenched in Justin's hair, holding him where Brian wanted him. Lips dropped to his neck, tongue laving the tendons standing stark from the pale skin as Justin arched, scrabbling at Brian's back for purchase.

 

Even as he divested Justin of his pants, and his own, Brian was growling between kisses.

 

"Fucking kid . . . you don't know pain . . . because pain . . . is knowing you have to be the one . . . to cut through all the ties. . . . ."

 

There was a moment of clarity, the sound of paper ripping, as Justin looked up to see a condom in Brian's hand. The need was terrible by this point, and he reached for it, but Brian snatched it away. Batting aside Justin's fingers, Brian placed the condom on Justin’s cock, the difference in routine leaving Justin’s mind reeling.

 

So Brian guided him, as he always had, pulling away and moving to his hands and knees. Without a word, he bent forward, presenting himself to Justin. He did not offer lube, and Brian was _never_ without lube. Justin sat up, trembling, almost in awe at what Brian was offering.

 

For the first time since he saw Brian that night, he felt a tenderness, an ache that burned behind his eyes. He draped himself over Brian and planted a soft kiss on the bowed neck. Then his body took over once again, and he drove himself full length into Brian's willing ass.

 

Brian grunted, nothing more. It had to hurt, even more so since Justin knew how rarely Brian bottomed, and this likely had not changed. A tiny presence in Justin's mind suggested that maybe he should slow down, but it was swiftly eclipsed by years of grief and fury. His heart hurt, and he wanted Brian to feel it, if only in a peripheral way.

 

He gripped Brian's hips and thrust deep, repeatedly, lost in an act he had not engaged in for over a year. The pressure in his balls rose fast, and he set a punishing pace. For some reason, words flitted through his mind, faint but demanding.

 

_I want you to remember this . . . so I'll always be there . . . ._

Yes, he wanted Brian to remember this also and realize what he did to Justin by turning away.

 

Every muscle strained, and sweat ran down his back. He was so close now and did not want it to end, because then it would truly be over forever. He trailed his fingers over the moisture gathering on Brian's back, moving up into Brian's hair, pulling his head back to see his face.

 

Brian's eyes were closed, his lips parted and relaxed. He made no sound, but Justin could tell from the way he shook that he was close. A better partner would have grasped Brian's cock, jerking it to give him release, but Justin was not trying to be better. This was not pleasure. It was vengeance.

 

Brian came anyway, choking out a groan as he spurted across the floor. His muscles clenched around Justin's cock, and Justin came also, mouth open in a soundless scream. The sorrow flowed out, filling the condom with the bitterness of eleven years and leaving Justin empty, lying across Brian's back.

 

He rolled to the side, forearm across his eyes, as Brian rose and dressed beside him. There were no words, only a river of emotions streaming too fast for Justin to catch. He knew he should say something, not let Brian leave without a last word, but he could not even look at his former partner. He stayed on the floor until Brian left, and then stood, his legs barely holding his weight. He dressed and finished packing the painting, leaving the crate for the cleaning crew to move in the morning.

 

He did not remember a thing about driving back to Daphne's apartment. When she arrived home at dawn, exhausted from her shift, he was still sitting on her sofa, clutching a pillow to his chest and rocking back and forth.

 

###

 

"Justin? What the hell?"

 

He stopped, lifting his head from the pillow just enough to show his eyes, red and swollen. Alarmed, she sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Saying nothing, he buried his face back in the pillow, but leaned on her, allowing her to rub his back in soothing circles.

 

"Was it a nightmare?"

 

Daphne knew about the terrible dreams and panic attacks Justin had suffered after the bashing.

 

He shook his head. "No. Well, it was, but it was one I made myself."

 

"I don't understand."

 

He explained brokenly what happened at the gallery after everyone had left. His eyes remained on the floor, his fingers twisting into the fringe of the pillow.

 

"God, Daphne. I should have just walked away! I practically raped him."

 

"It wasn't rape if he started it, Justin. You said he offered himself."

 

"It doesn't matter!" Justin threw the pillow against the wall, and Daphne flinched. "All I had to do was leave, but instead, I lay there and let him call the shots!"

 

"You loved him once, Justin. Is it really so difficult to believe that a small part of you still does?"

 

"I don't!"

 

"Then why does it bother you so much that you might have hurt him? Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? That he practically gave himself to you to hurt, and you did?"

 

For a split second, Justin's face twisted, and Daphne braced herself for another display of violence, but it did not come. Instead, he began to sob, burying his face in her shoulder. She held him for a long time, wondering if there would ever be any healing for the two men.

 

###

 

Brian tossed his briefcase on his desk, lowering himself into the chair. His ass throbbed, and he shifted until the tension eased. Leaning his head back, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the grittiness but probably just making them redder. When he heard the door open, he did not even move, wishing whoever it was would simply disappear. Unless they had a cup of coffee.

 

"Well, it's good to see you finally dragged your ass in here.” Ted’s dry voice ramped his headache up another notch. "You missed the eight o'clock meeting with Brown Athletics, but I covered for you. No worries. Here's your coffee." A clunk on his desk brought Brian to full attention, and he favored Ted with a grateful grimace.

 

"I always know I can count on you, Ted." He raised the mug in salute and downed half of it in one gulp.

 

"Yeah, well, I kind of figured you might be late today after attending Justin's show last night."

 

So much for hoping he wouldn't hear about it.

 

"Well, I came, I saw, I left." Then returned, but Ted did not need to know that.

 

"I'm sure Justin appreciated it."

 

"Uh huh." His ass knew just how much Justin appreciated it. _Shit, Kinney, you practically begged for what you got. You wanted punishment? Well, you got it, so quit whining already._

 

"Don't forget the art department meeting at eleven, okay? I can't cover everything." Ted left, eyes downcast, probably thankful he was not reamed for bringing up Justin's name.

 

Brian closed his eyes once more, wishing he could banish the images circling in his head. No one could be more pissed at his behavior last night than he could. Brian Kinney was always in control, and last night, he had lost it. He had let Justin's words worm their way into his soul, where they festered like pus.

 

_He thinks he knows pain when he doesn't have a clue what I went through or why I did what I did? Fuck, after five years you would think he knows me better than that. Haven't I always done everything with his best interests in mind?_

 

His sore bottom clenched, pushing aside his bitterness and filling him with memories of last night. He could still feel Justin inside, had loved every second of it. Even the pain was secondary to the joy of having Justin's skin against his, where it belonged . . . where it had always belonged.

 

Standing abruptly, he slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the mug. _Stop this, Kinney. He isn't yours anymore. You gave him up, remember? Don't complicate things further._

 

He grabbed his briefcase, opening it to retrieve the reports he had printed last night before going to the exhibit. Time to forget again, rebuild those walls he had so meticulously erected many years ago. Time to drive Justin from his mind.

 

###

 

He remembered standing here before, a nervous teenager determined to pursue his one-night stand. He was no longer a teenager, but he was definitely nervous. Hating himself, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Smoking was a habit he had given up when he moved in with Adam. Through the years, he had resisted temptation admiringly, but it took only one night to destroy his resolution.

 

Justin gazed up to the top of the grungy brick building across the street, exhaling shakily. He had no idea if Brian even still lived here. If he didn't, Justin would have to ask Michael where he lived, but he would prefer leaving Brian's best friend out of it. He and Michael were on good terms, but Justin held little doubt where Michael's loyalties lay.

 

With a deep breath, he crossed the street and buzzed the intercom. When there was no reply, he dug in his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. Eleven years, and he had kept the key to Brian's loft. It was stupid, since Brian had likely changed the locks, but Justin had never been able to throw it out. When it worked, and the door opened, he nearly dropped the key in shock.

 

The elevator had not changed and neither had the steel door leading to Brian's suite. He knocked hesitantly, already aware Brian was not home. He waited a full five minutes anyway before using the key once more, letting himself into the loft that had once been his home.

 

He stood another five minutes by the door, too surprised to move. His eyes roamed the huge open space that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room. Everything had changed, which was no surprise. Brian often changed furniture and decor, a true queen when it came to keeping up with the latest fashion. The walls were what floored him, decorated with pictures entirely different from when Justin had last stood in this room.

 

His feet moved without conscious thought, taking him from print to print. Every picture was as familiar to Justin as his own face. They were his, every single work of art in Brian's home. Many were originals; some were reprints. He stopped before one he had created his first year in New York. Not well known at the time, he had not expected it to sell, but the gallery contacted him within five days to send him a check. That check had paid four months of rent.

 

There were others from his early years, all originals he had been surprised to sell. It had been a relief to have the money to survive in such an expensive city. It gave him enough freedom to experiment, to develop _Maddie_ , which propelled him to fame. The realization took his breath away, and he collapsed on the white leather sofa across from the flat screen TV.

 

_Brian bought those pictures. It was because of him I survived those first years in New York. And I never knew. . . ._

His eyes continued to scan the room, cataloging which paintings Brian owned. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he searched the walls for a particular picture, one he had created during his second year in NYC. It was very personal, and he had never planned to sell it. Only his financial need had driven him to offer it, and then only at an exorbitant price guaranteed to turn away interested buyers. He had decided to show it for a time and then reclaim it for himself. It had sold in three days for a ridiculous amount of money. Now he suspected where it might have gone.

 

Not spying it in the main room, he stepped into the bedroom, completely unsurprised to find the painting hanging on the wall above the bed. _And to think I wondered what crazy person would pay so much money for this?_

 

Two men dominated the center of the painting. Done in watercolor, their faces were smudged, blurring out the details, but they were undeniably nude. They lay on a bed, the dark-haired one on top of the blond. The background had been painted digitally, giving the figures a dreamy appearance compared to the sharpness of their surroundings. The bed was covered in white sheets, strewn with long-stemmed roses. The thorns pricked the blond's alabaster skin, leaving splotches of blood everywhere on the sheets. His head was thrown back, but it was impossible to tell if he was in pain or ecstasy. The man on top had his head bowed over the other’s neck, as if kissing his throat.

 

Justin remembered creating this art he had called, “The Pain of Love". He had finally accepted that it was over between him and Brian, since Brian refused to return his calls or email. Broken hearted, he had poured out his pain on the canvas, but when finished, he had regretted painting it. The gallery owner loved it, however, and insisted on displaying it, so Justin listed a price far too high for the work of an unknown artist. It had not deterred Brian.

 

Brian's bed looked the same as Justin remembered, covered with silky black sheets and still unmade. He sat down slowly, eyes fixed on the picture, wondering what went through Brian's head every night when he saw it.

 

 _Pain is knowing you have to be the one who cuts all the ties._ The words from last night echoed through his head.

Justin's eyes burned. _He always did think of me first, even when he knew I wouldn’t agree. Brian, the damned martyr._ He wanted to rip down the painting. Hell, he wanted to rip them all down. Why had Brian done this to both of them?

 

The door slid open, and Justin whirled around in time to see the surprised look on Brian's face.

 

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Zevgirl for editing my story! Hope everyone is enjoying it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

 

Brian thinks he is hallucinating at first, that the events of last night have percolated too long in his subconscious, leaving a wishful residue behind. Then he blinks hard, but Justin is still there on his bed, as if he had never left all those years ago. It hurts enough to catapult him back to reality, where a new Justin sits on new sheets. This Justin wears glasses, has darker hair, and sports a scruff of pale brown along his jaw.

 

He throws his briefcase on the kitchen counter, slowly undoing his tie while Justin descends the steps to his bedroom. He stops there, several yards from Brian, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. Brian reciprocates with his own defensive posture, crossing his arms over his chest. The seconds tick by while they eye each other, neither wanting to yield by speaking first.

 

This was _Brian's_ loft, however, and he had asked a question.

 

"I came to see you, but you weren't home." Justin’s voice breaks the tension.

 

"Who let you in?"

 

Justin holds up a key. "I still have it. Apparently, you haven't bothered to change your locks over the years."

 

"My mistake." Brian runs his fingers through his hair, staring out the window. "So, what do you want?"

 

"What do I want?" Justin chokes out a laugh full of barbs. "I want to know why . . . why you suddenly show up after all this time. What do _you_ want, Brian?"

 

He presses his lips together to hold in the vitriol threatening to spill. "I want what I've always wanted. For you to be successful." _Well, Brian Kinney, don't you sound noble._ He needed a drink. Badly.

 

"Funny way you have of showing it. By disappearing from my life almost as soon as I went to New York. Were you that anxious to move on? Find some other ass to fuck?"

 

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose to hide the fury. "Well, no one knows me like you." He looks up with a sneer only to find Justin studying him intently.

 

"Yeah, I do know you." Justin allows his gaze to wander the room, deliberately pausing at each picture, and Brian suddenly wonders how long he has been here, how much he has seen. "You never really disappeared did you? Just let me think you did."

 

This is not how it is supposed to go, Justin driving him into a corner. He says nothing, returning Justin's stare with total blankness.

 

"I know these paintings, Brian." Justin walks toward one. "This was one of my first, and it shouldn't have sold as quickly as it did. No one knew who I was."

 

Brian does not move, and Justin gestures to another.

 

"Same with this one. Even the gallery owner was surprised. Said I had a lot of luck."

 

He approaches Brian, stopping only a foot away. "It wasn't luck though, was it? It was you. Making sure I survived."

 

"Hardly. You did that on your own. I liked those paintings . . . I always liked your stuff." _Weak, Kinney, very weak._

 

"And the one over the bed? That wasn't even supposed to sell. I intended to keep it, so I listed it at a ridiculous price. It sold anyway." Brian looks away, but Justin takes another step, backing him against the kitchen counter. "So tell me . . . do you _like_ that painting?"

 

So many thorns, just like in the picture. Every word pierces Brian's skin, leaving holes in his self-control. This is unravelling very fast, and he can no longer avoid the penetrating gaze boring into him. So he deflects, as he always does.

 

"Is that how you saw yourself then, Justin? Bleeding for me?" _There_ it is, a flinch. "I _love_ that picture. I look at it every night before I go to bed to remind me that pain is necessary." Justin's eyes narrow, his breathing heavy, but Brian cannot stop. Not now. "No achievement comes without sweat and blood. I did what I did to teach you that, Sunshine. I did it to make sure you didn't turn around and come back here, to the fucking Pitts. I did it to make you strong!"

 

"Did you? Are you sure about that?" Justin leans close, face-to-face, voice dropping to a whisper. "Or were you afraid, once I was gone, that love would make you weak? That it was better to cut your ties than take that chance?"

 

Everything goes white-hot. Brian grabs a fistful of Justin's shirt, shoves him forcefully backward to the bedroom. He moves fast, not even pausing when Justin stumbles over the steps. At the edge of the bed, he pushes Justin down hard, following on his hands and knees and gripping Justin's wrists to hold him down.

 

"You little _fucker_. Have you learned nothing?" Justin glares back, not fighting, but not retreating. "I was giving you a chance to grow without me hovering over you, influencing your every decision. To find someone who wanted what you wanted. To be yourself, apart from what I made you." He is hissing now, so much venom spilling everywhere.

 

Justin goes very still, his breathing suddenly calm.

 

"We are the people we love, Brian. Everyone who touches your heart, whether you acknowledge it or not, becomes a part of you. I'm a part of you. You're a part of me. You can't just tear yourself from my skin, and you never will. You know what I really think? I think you were scared, not of falling in love . . . you already had. You were afraid I would find a new life in New York and leave you behind. You wanted to end it before I did, crush your own heart before I could."

 

The words hang in the air, and Brian wants to rip them to shreds. At that moment, he hates Justin, for knowing Brian so well, and he loves him just as much, for being Justin. His lungs burn, and he realizes he is holding his breath, struggling for control over his rage.

 

"Think you still have me all figured out, Sunshine? Is that why you're here? Even your painting at the gallery said it all. What we had . . . it’s gone, Justin. Nothing left but ghosts." Brian sits back on his knees, releasing Justin. "You don't need Pittsburgh anymore; you've moved beyond it. Beyond even me."

 

The bed shifts, and Justin rises to face him, propping himself on his hands. His whisper is a caress, soft against Brian's lips.

 

"Until a year ago, I thought so too. Now I'm not so sure."

 

Justin's tongue flicks out, pressing briefly to the pulse beating wildly at Brian's neck. It is worse than the thorns, because Brian can protect himself from pain, but not from gentleness and certainly not from arousal. He meets Justin's gaze, recognizes the challenge there amidst the blue, and knows already that he has lost this match.

 

Fingers fumble over buttons and zippers, pulling frantically and casting aside the clothes. Only when they are skin to skin does Brian allow himself to match Justin's kisses with his own, overpowering the younger man swiftly and choosing to devour rather than reciprocate. Justin relinquishes control, letting Brian drive the kiss even as he strains upward, seeking contact with Brian's body.

 

Brian stops, placing a hand flat on Justin's chest and gently pushing him down. Last night had been rushed and violent, at his own desire. This is different; this is not forgiveness but understanding. This time, he wants to go slow, reacquaint himself with a body he has not claimed in over a decade.

 

Justin allows it, threading his fingers through Brian's hair as he starts at Justin's neck, licking and sucking until he reaches the nipples. Until this point, Justin has been semi-hard, but once Brian twirls his tongue around those sensitive nubs of flesh, his erection enlarges, a soft gasp falling from relaxed lips.

 

Brian eyes it eagerly but resists, continuing his exploration of Justin's chest and abdomen. The last softness of baby flesh has disappeared; the skin beneath Brian's mouth is very much a man's, hard yet smooth. Justin has stayed in shape, lines of musculature appearing with every twitch as Brian strokes all his sensitive, ticklish spots. He marvels at the changes and rejoices to find he still knows exactly where and how Justin likes to be touched.

 

God, how he has missed this: the sounds Justin makes as he writhes beneath Brian, the way he bites his lower lip to keep himself in control, the tightness with which he holds the sheets to keep from flying apart. Every time Brian looks up, Justin is watching him intently, pupils dilated with desire. He knows he must look the same.

 

He ignores Justin's erection, reaching behind his knees instead, and lifting his legs to expose his ass. Still utterly perfect, the tiny pucker is just begging for attention. From the very first night, Justin has been a complete sucker for rimming, sometimes coming from that alone. Brian gives the other man a slow smirk, watches as Justin licks his lips with anticipation, already panting at the suggestion. Then he places his tongue right _there_ , and Justin is lost.

 

Throwing his arms above his head, Justin braces himself against the headboard as his body arches. His head falls back, mouth open, and his sphincter relaxes, then contracts with pleasure as Brian caresses it with his tongue. Justin murmurs something, a curse perhaps, but Brian is too far gone to pay attention, lost in the taste and the increasing pressure in his balls from watching Justin's erection ooze a small amount of clear fluid.

 

This is not what Brian wants, however, or even what he needs. The darkness hovers, cloying in its heaviness, and Brian needs relief, if only for a moment. Rising to his knees, he reaches over to the nightstand, grabs a condom and tube of lube before a sudden thought beings him to a halt.

 

His eyes meet Justin's, an entire conversation ensuing in that single look. Justin lifts his chin, not in defiance but in agreement, and deliberately raises his legs back.

 

"Just take it easy, okay? I haven't bottomed in many years."

 

The words are electrifying, perking Brian's curiosity as well as satisfying his desire. Later, he will ruminate over those words, but not now. He needs Justin, the connection they used to have. He slips the condom on himself, drizzling lube over it and Justin's ass. He starts to insert his fingers, to prepare Justin, but the other man shakes his head.

 

"I'm ready. Please."

 

He goes slowly, even though his dick is screaming _move_ , sinking into Justin's warmth. Justin is breathing shallowly, eyes closed, lips tight. Deeper and deeper yet, and Brian is on fire from the heat that spirals out from his center. Only when he is seated entirely does he pause, burying his face in Justin's shoulder to hide the emotion that is overwhelming him.

 

_Justin. God, Justin._

Did he speak those words aloud? He has no idea but feels Justin's fingers in his hair, scraping his scalp and tugging gently. He moves, brushing his cheek against the stubble on Justin's jaw, reveling in the roughness. Justin pulls harder, and he reluctantly meets the blue eyes gazing back, glittering brightly in the corners.

 

It is too much, and he withdraws, ignoring Justin's confused look.

 

"Roll over."

 

Justin obeys, surprisingly, and Brian relaxes. This position is better, less revealing for both of them. There is only so much he can process at one time.

 

He enters again, draping himself over Justin's back. They have always fit so perfectly, Justin exactly the right height to press completely against Brian, their thighs, torso, and arms touching. Brian loves fucking Justin like this, close enough to feel his every reaction, close enough to become one.

 

They fall into an old rhythm, as if the years have never come between them. Justin pushes back against every penetration, arching his back to maintain contact. Brian doesn't even think, merely intertwines his fingers with Justin's, his lips teasing the vertebral bumps on the back of Justin's neck, always a sensitive spot for the younger man.

 

Sweat beads on their skin, decreasing the friction, and they glide smoothly together. Brian leans to one side without stopping, watching avidly as Justin's cock bobs with every movement. Justin reaches up briefly to grab a pillow, pressing it under his chest for support as Brian lets loose, pushing Justin into the mattress with the force of his thrusts. Brian lowers his head, whispering in Justin's ear.

 

"Fuck, you're hot. Haven't changed a bit."

 

Justin is too far gone to reply, just moans in response. It is one of the things Brian loves about him, his complete immersion in the sexual act, responsive to every touch. At times he talks dirty, but usually, like now, he simply loses himself to Brian, and Brian takes Justin's trust very seriously.

 

The lean body below shivers, and Brian realizes Justin is very close. He changes his angle, driving in hard, knocking Justin almost flat against the bed. Justin grips the sheets, knuckles white, and just holds on. Two more thrusts into the most amazing heat, and Brian cries out, coming and pinning Justin to the bed, grinding wildly. Justin tenses, pushes back hard onto Brian's length, grunting as he comes.

 

_Thump thump._ It is like the beat of disco music, the rhythm of their hearts as they fall through the ecstasy. Brian collapses on Justin, bending his knees to keep the pressure off the man below. For a long time, he simply lies there, listening to Justin's breath, the life flowing from him into Brian. It is the most awake he has felt in ages.

 

Then he plummets, from the highest high to the lowest low, as Justin tenses below, disentangling his fingers from Brian's. Justin pulls away, a little too sharply, rolling on his back on the other side of the bed. Brian sees his eyes drift upward, staring at the painting over the bed, and he too stiffens. Does Justin feel like the blond in the picture, bleeding over the sheets?

 

Brian rises, retreating to the bathroom to get a dampened washcloth. When he returns, Justin is still gazing at the painting, but he accepts the towel with a quiet thank-you. Brian cleans himself off with a tissue, then digs in his drawer for the stash of weed he still keeps. He lights a joint, lying back on the bed next to Justin, who has rolled on his side facing Brian. After taking a deep inhalation, Brian offers it to Justin, who takes it without hesitation. They release twin curls of smoke from their lips, eyes guarded.

 

"I haven't had one of these in probably two years," says Justin. "Sam shared some with me when she visited one night while Adam was out." He passes the joint back to Brian.

 

"A pity." Brian takes another drag. "Sometimes you need a hit. Life gets too boring otherwise." He holds it to Justin's lips, watches as Justin breathes it in. "Adam?"

 

"The one you wanted me to find, who wanted what I did." Justin meets his gaze squarely. "But in the end, you ruined that too . . . in a way."

 

"How is that?"

 

Justin laughs, bitterly. "Of all the times you tried to help me remember prom night, how ironic that I remembered when you weren't around. It was a trigger, just like with Gus and the baseball bat. I heard the song, and bam. There you are, right in front of me, holding me like I'm the most precious thing on Earth."

 

Brian says nothing, his own memories too strong for words. _You were._

 

"Except that it was supposed to be _Adam_ holding me, not you. He left because he didn't believe I was truly over you."

 

He wants to ask, is _dying_ to ask, but he cannot. He has not earned it and certainly does not deserve it.

 

"Fuck, I shouldn't have come here." Justin returns to his back, hand over his eyes. "I just didn't . . . I didn't want to leave things where they were last night. I thought if I came here, spoke my mind . . . ." He sighs. "I've made it worse, haven't I?"

 

"You wanted an explanation. Understandable. If you want to punch me, if it would help, go ahead."

 

Justin snorts. "JT tries to punch Rage. Yeah, right." He tries to keep a straight face but bursts into giggles, the weed taking effect.

 

Brian smiles back. "I might even still have that Rage costume somewhere."

 

"Forget it." Justin waves his hand. "Punching you wouldn't help."

 

They finish the joint, and Brian sets the roach on the bedside table. Silence ensues as they sink into the mellowness, and Brian is grateful the thorns have disappeared for the moment.

 

"You didn't have to help me in New York. I would have been fine on my own."

 

Brian had never doubted it; Justin was a survivor. However, buying those paintings had been a way to hang on, even if by a thread.

 

"Well, I could have let you become a hustler." Brian grins. "I'm sure you would have made a fine living that way."

 

Justin turns his head, tries to glower, but chuckles instead. Thank God for pot . . . it makes even the worst situation bearable. Maybe now would be the best time to ask.

 

"You said you haven't bottomed for years. Why not?"

 

"Of course, you would remember that." Justin falls silent, rubbing the sheet between his fingers. Just as Brian starts to think he will not answer, he does. "Adam wasn't a comfortable top. Didn't really enjoy it as much as bottoming. I didn't mind either way, so I topped. It's how he preferred it."

 

Adam again. Brian hates that he can still feel jealousy after so many years. But then, he could not deny the satisfaction of knowing Adam had never claimed Justin. Not in _that_ way.

 

Justin sits up and begins to dress. "I need to go. I have another show tonight."

 

"I'll take you home. You staying with Daphne or your mom?"

 

"I don't need you to take me." Justin wobbles, falling against the bed as he struggles with his jeans.

 

"You're high, Justin. I'll take you home."

 

"You're high too. Forget it. I'll call Daphne."

 

Shit, he does not want Justin to go, to end this new connection. Unfortunately, he cannot think of another reason for him to stay.

 

He sits up and moves to the foot of the bed, watching Justin step into his sneakers. His hair is mussed, and Brian longs to run his fingers through it, but does nothing. The air has gone cold and stale, even the hint of a promise long since dormant.

 

Justin dons his jacket, looking toward the door, and Brian wishes desperately for something to say, anything that will make Justin stay one more minute. As if sensing this, Justin hesitates, jamming his hands into his pockets. Biting his lip, he turns back.

 

"I'm sorry. For barging in."

 

"No need. I did give you a key to use." Brian smiles, knowing he looks wishful when he is trying to appear nonchalant.

 

Justin chuckles. "Yeah, you did."

 

He lifts his eyes from the floor, meeting Brian's gaze head-on. The moment drifts, dragging its feet. _It's only time._ It hurts, but Brian does not look away. He owes Justin that much.

 

Justin leans down, brushing his lips along Brian's cheek. Forgiveness? Consolation? Whatever it is, Brian accepts it, a light in his dark. He watches as Justin walks away, shutting the door behind him. Flopping back onto the bed, he wonders at the sudden, curious buoyancy he feels, the warmth tingling just under his skin. It has been so terribly long since he felt it.

 

Hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Zevgirl for her awesome editing! Hope everyone is enjoying the story :)

"What the hell are you doing, Justin?"

 

Daphne had bags under her eyes from too little sleep, but she had been awake when Justin called. Her hair was pulled back in a hasty ponytail, exposing the lines of worry in her face.

 

"I had to rectify what happened last night." Justin stared out the window as Daphne drove them back to her apartment. "I couldn't leave it like that, Daph."

 

"He let you in?"

 

"He wasn't there. I let myself in with the key he gave me a long time ago."

 

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. So you didn't see him."

 

"I slept with him."

 

" _What?_ " Daphne glared at him, aghast. Justin smacked her arm, and she looked up in time to see the stop sign. They both threw an arm out to brace themselves at the sudden brake. Daphne took a deep breath before continuing.

 

"Have you lost your mind?"

 

"Do we have to discuss this now?"

 

"You're the one who dropped the bombshell!" Daphne gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, with just enough force to let Justin know she was serious.

 

"It wasn't my intention to have sex." Justin told her about finding his art in Brian's loft. "All this time, he's obviously been tracking me to some extent. He purchased some of my early pictures, which kept me financially afloat in those first years in New York. I didn't even know any of this!"

 

"He obviously didn't want you to know," said Daphne. "What did he say when you confronted him?"

 

"He said he was just trying to help . . . said my success was more important than our relationship. He broke it off because he was afraid I would get homesick and come back to Pittsburgh."

 

"Is he right?"

 

"Of course not!" He sighed. "I don't think so."

 

"I know. I'm sorry." She gave him an apologetic glance. "At least now you know he did it for you. In his own arrogant, misguided way."

 

"Fuck." Justin rubbed his forehead, sighing. "I don't know what to think or believe anymore."

 

"So where did the sex come in?"

 

Justin flushed. "I, uh . . . kissed him. It kind of went from there."

 

Daphne chuckled, shaking her head. "And was it as good as you remember?"

 

"Daph!" She raised her eyebrows knowingly, and he chuckled. "Of course, it was. He's still Brian Kinney, the ultimate lover and asshole."

 

"You know what?" said Daphne, thoughtfully. "You're his baby duck."

 

"Huh?"

 

"His baby duck! You know, how baby ducks supposedly imprint on the first thing they see, and that's who they follow around everywhere."

 

"You're calling me a duck? Seriously?"

 

"He was your first lover, and he left his mark on you, figuratively speaking. Your entire body is wired to his desires and needs. You can't even help yourself."

 

"I am not a baby duck! That's the stupidest thing I ever heard." He glowered at Daphne before turning his attention to more interesting things. Like the houses outside.

 

"So now what?"

 

"Now, I get ready for the show tonight and put him out of my mind. No distractions."

 

"Uh huh." She rolled her eyes, but Justin let it pass.

 

###

 

Jennifer watched from a distance as her son deftly handled the admirers waiting to speak to him. Sitting at one of the refreshment tables, she sipped wine while she waited for the show to end. She had brought Justin this evening, since Daphne had another shift at the hospital. Truthfully, she didn't mind. Justin came to Pittsburgh rarely, so Jennifer had taken several trips to NYC to visit.

 

Jennifer had met Adam a year after Justin had started dating him. She found him pleasantly friendly but very quiet. He seemed to be what people called "a gentle soul" and treated Justin with deference and respect. She approved wholeheartedly of their relationship but had to admit he was a surprising choice after Brian. They were polar opposites, a warm breeze compared to an icy hurricane.

 

When Justin told her they had broken up, and he was moving out, she had felt sad. They had been considering marriage, which she knew Justin had always wanted. Even children had a part in their plans for the future, and she had desperately hoped for a grandchild. Justin never explained why they separated, and she knew better than to press.

 

She waited until the show was over, and Justin plopped down into the chair next to her.

 

"Ugh. I'm so glad this is over. I know these kind of things are necessary, but I'd really rather just draw than deal with public events."

 

"Well, your fans love to meet you," said Jennifer. "I'm so proud of you, Justin."

 

"Thanks." He smiled and squeezed her hand.

 

"I used to worry so much, after what Chris Hobbs did, but you've gone above and beyond what I ever could have hoped. I suppose I should thank Brian for that."

 

She watched him stiffen and pull away his hand. Brain was clearly still a taboo topic, but Jennifer was not going to let it go.

 

"I called today, and Daphne said you were at his place."

 

From his frown, she suspected Daphne would be getting a verbal thrashing later.

 

"I was."

 

"He came to your exhibition last night also."

 

"He did."

 

"Did you know he was coming?"

 

_That_ got a reaction. "No!" He glared at her. "I haven't spoken to him in years. You know that."

 

"Does he still live in that loft?"

 

"Why the inquisition?" She had his attention now, but all his shields were up. She sighed, longing for the days before her son came out, when he had shared everything with her. Nothing was ever the same after your child became an adult.

 

"Honey, I'm just concerned, that's all. He hurt you terribly after you went to New York."

 

"I'm fine, Mom. I just . . . ." He looked away, but not before she saw the sadness. "I wanted answers."

 

"And did you get them?"

 

"More or less." She wondered about that. Brian had never been exactly forthright, and Justin fell so easily under his spell.

 

"Come on. Let's go." He offered a hand and pulled her to her feet, bright smile back in place. She gave him a quick hug and donned her coat.

 

Outside, it was dark and cool, the parking lot brightly lit and nearly empty. As they walked, Justin told Jennifer about a new gallery in NYC that had contacted him about showing some of his works. Excited, he failed to notice the jeep next to Jennifer's car, but when she stopped, he looked forward and froze. Brian was lounging against the front of the jeep, hands deep in the pockets of his black trench coat. As they approached with obvious hesitation, he flashed Jennifer a winning smile.

 

"Mrs. Taylor. You're looking as fabulous as I remember."

 

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. "Brian. It's good to see you, I suppose. Is there some reason you're lurking by my car?"

 

Brian's intense gaze shifted to Justin. "I was sort of hoping to speak to your son. If it's okay with him."

 

Jennifer turned to Justin, who stood stiff and silent. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them, watching as they shared a long look. Finally, Justin turned to her.

 

"It's okay Mom. Go home and get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning."

 

She glanced at Brian apprehensively, but he was still staring at Justin. "Are you sure?"

 

"I'll be fine. I promise."

 

He hugged her, offering a reassuring smile. She shot Brian a last withering look and turned reluctantly to her car. When she left the parking lot, she looked back, but they were still standing by Brian's jeep.

 

###

 

"So, what did you want to speak about?"

 

Brian chewed at his lower lip, brushing a piece of lint off his coat. "Actually, I was hoping you would accompany me somewhere. There's something I want to show you."

 

"I've already seen the loft."

 

Brian rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about the loft. Could you please just get in the car?"

 

Justin swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea."

 

"I promise you'll want to see this." Seeing Justin's stubborn expression, Brian sighed. "Look, if you want to go home, I'll take you there after I show you something. Okay?"

 

"Fine." Justin climbed into the jeep, just wanting to get it over with. At least, that was what he told himself.

 

Brian drove in silence, but Justin saw him watching his passenger from the corner of his eye.

 

_What the fuck am I doing here? I need to let him go, not spend more time with him._

"Your art's very good by the way."

 

Justin almost jumped; the silence had been so absolute. He resisted the urge to look at Brian and gazed out the window instead.

 

"Thanks."

 

"And _Maddie . . ._ was that based on a future you'd hoped for?"

 

Justin swiveled his head, piercing Brian with a sharp glance. "Hardly. I need a stable relationship before having a kid."

 

"And Adam didn't work out."

 

Justin narrowed his eyes. "I shouldn't have told you about him."

 

"I already knew."

 

Justin's frown deepened. "What?"

 

"I've kept tabs on you . . . making sure you're all right."

 

"You've been spying on me?"

 

"Relax. I know no more than the public knows. You don't have video cameras stationed around your townhouse. I promise."

 

"What business is it of yours to know anything about my life?" Justin's heart was racing, his face hot. "You dumped me, remember?"

 

"Doesn't mean I stopped caring." Brian's voice was hesitant, the words obviously costing him a great deal to say. He did not look at Justin but the knuckles of his hands on the wheel were bone white.

 

Justin wanted to jump out and slam the door in Brian Kinney's face. Who was he to toy with Justin's emotions like this? Hadn't Justin suffered enough heartbreak?

 

_Perhaps he suffered too._ The unwanted thought did not go away, and Justin found himself settling back in his seat, willing himself to relax. Emotions ran high on both sides, and he did not feel like lighting a fire now.

 

"We're here."

 

Brian drove down Liberty Ave. and turned into an alley. Justin stared into his past, momentarily thrown by memories both good and bad.

 

Pillars of lights flashed rudely into the night, highlighting a long line of men waiting to enter Babylon. It looked exactly as he remembered it before the bombing. His mother had told him that Brian had rebuilt the club, but he had never returned to Liberty Avenue to see it.

 

He got out of the car slowly, mesmerized by the neon words glowing in the dark. For just a moment, he saw ambulance lights, mixed with the shouts of police officers as shaken people exited covered in soot. It was here that Brian had first said the words Justin had needed so badly to hear.

 

The vision faded replaced by Brian's wide smile, one hand held out in supplication.

 

"Come in with me?"

 

They looked at each other for an endless minute, Brian never lowering his hand or his smile. Taking a deep breath, Justin reached out and took his hand.

 

###

 

They found Ted and Emmett by the bar, just as in days of old. Emmett shrieked when he saw Justin. Drawing him into a bear hug, they congratulated him on his show and offered him a drink.

 

"Drinks are on me tonight, boys." Brian made a gesture at the bartender, who replied with a curt nod. "Help yourself."

 

Justin ordered a whiskey sour and stood leaning against the bar while taking in the sights and sounds of the club. A security guard approached, whispering something to Brian. He made a pained grimace.

 

"Sorry, but duty calls. I'll be back in a few." He followed the guard, quickly disappearing into the crowd on the dance floor.

 

"So . . . uh . . . .” Ted nodded toward Brian's departing back. "Are you two . . . um . . . back together?"

 

Justin opened his mouth to snap a vicious reply, but stopped when he saw Ted's sympathetic look. The man was not being snarky, but inquisitive. No sense in taking out Justin's uncertainty on the poor man.

 

"No. He just wanted me to see Babylon." Justin moved closer to hear Ted better over the raucous beat of the music. "Do you still work for him?"

 

"Oh, yes. It's a great job, really. Except when the boss is on the warpath."

 

"I can imagine," chuckled Justin. He had seen for himself how Brian ripped into his employees. He too had suffered Brian's wrath when he worked at Vanguard.

 

"Isn't it great how he rebuilt Babylon?" said Emmett, raising his beer to the flashing lights in homage. "It still looks just the same. Even better really. He devised some new shows to keep us gay boys happy."

 

"I have to admit, it looks great," said Justin. It even looked cleaner. Justin wondered if Brian kept the back room sanitary as well. The thought brought a tension to his groin, and he quickly shut out the thought.

 

"You know," said Ted, "Brian has been acting very different since you returned. Like the old selfish, prickly Brian again."

 

"Definitely," agreed Emmett. "He was smiling tonight. When was the last time we saw him actually smile, Teddy?"

 

Justin finished off his drink and ordered another. He debated whether he should ask, but his curiosity was too strong.

 

"What do you mean? How is he usually?"

 

"Different. Like every kernel of the old Brian was plucked, leaving just a husk," said Ted.

 

"Good analogy," said Emmett, tapping his glass to Ted's. "He definitely was never the same after you left, Sunshine."

 

Justin was silent. He wondered how much they knew of what had transpired but decided they probably knew nothing. Brian was not the type to confide.

 

Brian chose that moment to return. He had removed his coat, exposing a sleeveless, black button-down and black jeans. Even at forty-five, he still made heads turn.

 

"Give me your coat," he said, removing Justin's jacket. He smirked at the tie. "And lose the tie."

 

"I'm not exactly dressed for dancing." Shit, the one thing he could _not_ do was dance with Brian. For them, it was nearly as intimate as fucking.

 

Brian handed Justin's coat and tie to the bartender. "You're fine." Without another word, he took Justin's drink, setting it on the bar, grabbed his hand, and dragged Justin out to the floor.

 

They found a space near the center, and Brian whirled Justin around to face him.

 

"Relax," he said, almost yelling to be heard over the music.

 

Not wanting to cause a scene, Justin relented. Closing his eyes, he focused on the rhythm, pushing away the warnings screaming in his brain. The alcohol helped, numbing his thoughts and amplifying his senses, warming his gut with a pleasant glow. He relaxed, allowing Brian to pull him close, not quite touching.

 

He fell into memories: nights full of dancing, blowing Brian in the back room, and then going home to fuck until an hour before dawn. How had he ever got enough sleep? He had been young and in love. Nothing but his art had mattered so much.

 

_You're his baby duck._

 

She was probably right. Even after all these years, every touch from Brian was electric, every smile like his own personal sun. He hated it. He craved it. _So much for thinking I was over him._

 

Brian pulled him closer, hip to hip, resting his forehead on Justin's as the beat became more intense. Justin could smell the whiskey on his breath and wondered when Brian had snuck in a drink. Probably when he was off with the security guard. His hands were wrapped loosely around Justin's waist, fingers lightly stroking just above his pants.

 

He did not resist, could not resist. The lights, the music, the sweaty guys around them, and the smell of Brian's cologne . . . it all battered at his defenses, wearing away the past eleven years like water erodes limestone. He leaned into Brian's embrace, wrapping his hands around the taller man's neck, allowing his fingers to weave into Brian's hair.

 

He lost track of time. There was only the pulse of the music, the beat of his heart, the breath that mingled with Brian's. He floated on memory, on years of love and turbulence, on promises made and broken. For now, in Babylon, there was only the present, and the past eleven years were as nothing. It was as if the club transcended time, contained youth eternal and love unbound. It was Brian in every song and every shot glass.

 

He wasn't even aware he was hard until Brian brushed his own erection against his. They both sucked in harsh breaths, lurching back into the moment. Justin licked his lips, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

 

"Uh, is there still a back room here?" Fuck, he could not believe he was doing this.

 

Brian smiled, soft and slow. "There is, but I'm not taking you there."

 

Confused, Justin glanced up at him, but Brian shook his head.

 

"You deserve more than a fuck in a back room, wouldn't you say?" Brian stopped dancing and took his hand. "Come on."

 

Justin followed him up the stairs, where he saw that Brian had built an office among the lights and catwalks. The office was made entirely of glass, tinted so that the occupants could see out, but no one could see in. Brian led him inside and locked the door.

 

Justin took a minute to look around. The beautiful mahogany desk held a laptop and was accompanied by a black leather chair. A sofa and love seat, also in black leather, comprised the remaining furniture, with track lights providing dim light above. A door behind the desk led to a small bathroom.

 

"Wow, nice."

 

"I never did understand why Sapp simply did his work on the catwalk. So much space up here was wasted."

 

Justin was not about to disagree. He had basically been forced to let Sapp blow him in full sight of his staff when he had been a go-go dancer here. He shuddered at the memory.

 

A different kind of shudder raced through his body as he felt Brian move behind him, tongue tracing a trail on the back of his neck. His erection, which had deflated at the thought of Sapp, began to rise again. He struggled to focus, to remain conscious of what they were doing.

 

"So now you fuck your tricks up here, instead of the back room?"

 

A warm tongue tickled at his earlobe, causing him to gasp loudly. "I've never fucked anyone in here. You're the first."

 

Justin whirled, facing Brian with a confused frown. "Seriously?"

 

"Have I ever lied to you, Justin?" Brian's gaze was intense, his pupils dilated with desire.

 

The sound of his name reverberated through Justin's mind, destroying every coherent thought. They came together roughly, bone smashing against bone, fingers clutching at clothes as they strived to bury themselves within each other. Ever the master of a swift strip, Brian had both of them naked in minutes, pushing Justin back against the tinted window.

 

Sweat smeared the window as Brian took a slow tour of Justin's body. He found every sensitive place, tortured it with his tongue, and turned Justin into a writhing mess. Panting, he finally stood, having retrieved a condom from his discarded jeans.

 

"Turn around."

 

Justin obeyed, taking in the rainbow of colors below, as Brian slipped his lubricated fingers into Justin's ass, preparing him carefully. Outside, several lighting techs walked by, oblivious to the scene going on in the office. It made Justin feel like he was on display, without being on display. The feeling served to ramp up his desire, and he grunted with impatience.

 

"Would you just fuck me already?"

 

Brian chuckled, and then everything was blotted out as he entered Justin. He paused, respectfully giving Justin a chance to adjust, before pushing in the rest of the way. They stood for a while, Justin plastered to the glass, Brian plastered to Justin, each reveling in the exquisiteness of being joined. Then Brian began to move.

 

No one could fuck standing up like Brian. Even with the awkward angle, he still managed to stroke over the prostate, while applying enough pressure to keep his lover from buckling. Every so often, he would pause to nibble at Justin's shoulder, before continuing his relentless thrusts. Justin tried to reciprocate, reach back to touch _something_ , but Brian did not allow it, grabbing Justin's flailing hands and placing them back on the glass.

 

The office was soundproofed, filled only with the harshness of their pants, the soft moans from Justin, the slap of flesh on flesh. Dizzy from either the alcohol or the endorphins racing through his body, Justin let Brian set the pace, moving his hips in time with Brian's thrusts. This was so familiar to him, ingrained in every cell of his body.

 

_You're his baby duck._

 

Was it possible for two people to become so close physically, that they bonded in some chemical way? Why was Brian the only man to ever excite him this much? To know his body better than Justin did himself?

 

His cock rubbed against the window, cool versus the burning heat behind. It did not give him enough friction, however, and a frustrated moan brought Brian's hand to his erection.

 

" _Fuck_." He pushed back, taking Brian in deeper, smiling at the appreciative grunt from the man behind him. In response, Brian wrapped an arm around Justin's chest, pulling him back from the window, his other hand giving Justin the contact he needed. Justin just leaned back and let go, letting Brian have control, resting the back of his head on Brian's shoulder.

 

He came hard on the window, convulsing within Brian's embrace and struggling to maintain his balance. Another shallow thrust and Brian came also, uttering a strangled groan against Justin's neck. They rocked back and forth, riding out their orgasms, not even noticing their entwined fingers on Justin's chest.

 

Brian broke away first, gently pulling out and discarding the condom while Justin sprawled on the leather sofa in exhaustion. He glanced at the window with amusement as Brian went to the bathroom.

 

"Um, I hope you clean your own office windows."

 

A short laugh came from the adjoining room. "I should just leave it for housekeeping. Wouldn't be any different than cleaning the back room." He returned, holding out a wet towel for Justin.

 

"Not that I minded, but why didn't you take me to the back room? It's what you always did before." He finished and handed the towel back to Brian, who tossed it carelessly to the corner of the room.

 

"Maybe I didn't want other men pawing at you."

 

_That_ was a novel idea. Brian had never cared before. Justin wondered just how much he had changed.

 

"I'm glad you decided to rebuild Babylon," he said, reaching for his clothes. Brian gave him a searching look, and then shrugged.

 

"It was Michael who convinced me, actually. I was going to sell it, put it behind me. He reminded me of the importance of sending a message to the community."

 

"And what message is that?"

 

"You can't get rid of queers. We will go on, in spite of the hetero bullshit." Brian pulled his pants up with an emphatic yank. "If they want to fuck with us, we'll fuck right back."

 

Justin finished dressing and moved to stand in front of Brian.

 

"You're different. You didn't used to care about stuff like that."

 

"What can I say?" Brian gave Justin a sardonic grin. "Someone made me care."

 

"Michael?"

 

Brian ran the back of his fingers along Justin's cheek.

 

"You."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

His breath sounded loud in his ears as he ran, harsh pants squeezed from his fear-constricted chest. Behind, the stamp of running feet pounded closer, and he did not want to risk looking over his shoulder.

 

"Justin."

 

He heard the voice, stern and worried, but he could not locate its position. It echoed through the parking garage, seemingly coming from every car he passed. The darkness wrapped around him, suffocating in its closeness.

 

"Justin."

 

He finally glanced back at the dark figure gaining on him. It was only a few paces away, one arm outstretched, the fingers curling like claws waiting to tear into his flesh. His chest hurt from running so fast, and still he was falling back, terror failing to boost his speed. He dodged a black jeep ahead, slowing as his hip grazed the fender. Yelping in pain, he fell, sliding across the rough concrete and tearing his jeans. He rolled over, cringing, and the figure was right _there_ , in his face, drawing back its hood to reveal the sneering visage of Chris Hobbs.

 

" _Justin_."

 

He jerked upright, arms flailing. The room took on familiar dimensions, furniture instead of cars, hardwood instead of concrete. He turned to the side, seeing Brian sitting up in bed, concerned but giving Justin his space. Closing his eyes, he bent his head to his knees, focusing on his breathing. _One beat in, two beats out._

 

He remembered coming home earlier that evening with Brian after leaving Babylon. Brian had promised he would sleep on the couch if Justin wished, but of course, that did not happen. They had barely slid the door shut before the clothes were dropped, and skin pressed against skin. An hour later, Justin had fallen asleep still tangled within the sheets, Brian's arm draped over his waist.

 

He felt ridiculously grateful that it was Brian and not Adam as tonight's witness to Justin's hellish nightmares. Adam had never experienced one of Justin's attacks until the wedding song triggered his memory. After that, they came once every few weeks, and Justin had explained that he could not bear to be touched when he first woke. Adam had not understood, had insisted on pulling the just-waking Justin into his embrace, and thus had inadvertently worsened the episodes. He simply did not comprehend that Justin needed space until he had his consciousness under control, and the nightmares had only escalated the deterioration of their relationship.

 

Brian had always understood, and he still did, waiting silently on his side of the bed until Justin's breaths came calm and easy. When Justin raised his head, swiping at his wet cheeks, Brian busied himself lighting a joint, which he passed wordlessly to the other man. Justin inhaled gratefully, letting the warm tingle envelope his body in a comforting fog. After a few more drags, he handed it back to Brian, who also took a smoke before setting it aside.

 

When Justin looked back, Brian was lying on his side, holding the duvet open and patting the bed beside him. Under normal circumstances, Justin would have hesitated, but the weed relaxed his reservations, and he settled next to Brian, resting his head on Brian's shoulder. It was a familiar routine, one they had followed many years before when Justin's nightmares had been frequent and unrelenting. Brian carded his fingers repeatedly through Justin's hair, a soothing touch that did not make Justin feel enclosed or restricted.

 

As always, Brian was the first to break the silence.

 

"Still having nightmares?"

 

Fuck, he did not want to talk about this, the shame of knowing Chris Hobbs could stretch his arm through all the years to still torment Justin. He hated that he had finally regained the memory of a glorious night, only to suffer for it.

 

"They started after I got back my memory of prom night."

 

The fingers in his hair continued their soothing caress. "I'm sorry."

 

Justin nearly looked up, shocked to hear such foreign words from Brian, the man who did not do apologies.

 

"For what? It wasn't your fault, Brian. We've been through this already."

 

"That what should have been a good memory came with such negative connotations."

 

Now Justin did tilt his head back, focusing on hazel eyes. "I don't regret remembering it, even with the nightmares. All I had was Daphne's word on how amazing we were, and now I _know_ we were. I’ve never seen you dance like that since."

 

"I figure that one time was enough."

 

"It was amazing, Brian. I had the hottest guy in the room dancing with _me_. And their faces . . . every damn insult I suffered in that school was worth it just to see their reaction."

 

"Your life wasn't worth that one night, Justin."

 

"You're wrong. It was the first time I knew for sure you loved me."

 

Brian looked like he wanted to protest, but pressed his lips together instead, sucking in his lower lip. "You were always more intuitive than I when it came to feelings."

 

"Oh, you tried to hide it, laughed it off, saying you wanted to recapture your lost youth." Brian raised his eyebrows, and Justin laughed. "I _told_ you, I remembered."

 

Brian yanked his hair gently. "Twat. I was better off when you didn't remember."

 

Justin propped himself up on his elbows, leaning over Brian's chest. "You don't mean that." He grinned, mischievously.

 

Brian's smile told Justin he was right. So did the kiss they shared before drifting back to sleep, burrowed under the sheets together.

 

###

 

The sun woke Brian, rudely throwing shards of light across the bed from the huge windows facing the city. Groaning, he pulled the pillow over his head, knowing from the position of the sunlight that it was close to noon. Good thing he had told Ted he was taking a vacation today. He had hoped he would get lucky, but even Brian was surprised that Justin had been willing to return to the loft with him.

 

The smell of coffee drove the pillow from his head, and he looked up in time to see Justin, naked, stepping onto the bed holding two mugs of coffee.

 

"Mmm," he murmured, taking a sip while Justin sat cross-legged beside him. "You always did know exactly how I like my coffee."

 

"Extra strong with just a touch of cream," said Justin. "It was the first thing I learned how to do to get you to like me."

 

Brian chuckled at the memory of seventeen-year-old Justin, making a mess of the kitchen in his quest to win Brian over by being the perfect housewife.

 

"You learned the more important things faster," he said.

 

"The way to your heart was always in the bed," Justin replied with a smirk.

 

_The way to my heart was your persistence, your smile, and your ability to take my shit and chuck it,_ thought Brian.

 

"So, how long are you in Pittsburgh?" He did not want to ask, but he could already feel the pain waiting, ready to drown him after Justin left.

 

Justin looked away, squinting into the sun, which highlighted every golden hair on his legs. "A few more days." His eyes drifted to the nightstand on his side of the bed, and he leaned over to it. "Whoa! Is this Gus?"

 

The picture was half-hidden behind the alarm clock. It had been taken last year, when Brian had visited Toronto in the spring. They were standing in Lindsey and Mel's backyard, Brian and his son, their arms slung across each other's shoulders. The resemblance was striking; there could be no doubt Gus was Brian’s son.

 

"Shit, he looks so much like you," said Justin. "How old is he now?"

 

"Sixteen. He wants me to buy him a car for his birthday." Brian laughed, shaking his head. It was hard to believe he had a teenager. Hadn't it been just yesterday that he had fallen in love with a teenager?

 

Justin smiled softly. "I can still remember showing him how to color in the lines."

 

"He asks about you."

 

Justin looked up quickly, surprised. "He remembers me?"

 

"Vaguely. He sees the pictures of you and me in his house. He knows we used to be together."

 

"Yeah. Used to be," whispered Justin, setting the picture back on the nightstand. He gave Brian a hard look. "What do you tell him?"

 

"That it didn't work out. That I didn't want to hold you back from your career."

 

"So you told him the truth, but you couldn't tell me?" Justin's voice hardened, anger sharpening the words.

 

"If I had told you, you would have worried that we would fall apart unless you came back to prove you still loved me. You would have given up your chance."

 

"It wasn't your decision to make."

 

"I wasn't going to stand in your way, Justin."

 

Justin shook his head. "You weren't going to take the chance that I'd hurt you. So you struck first."

 

_Fuck this. I can't do this now._ Brian blew out a harsh sigh. "Does it matter now? What's done is done, and we can't change it."

 

"Don't you wish you knew what might have been?"

 

"Why wish for things you can't have? You know I don't do regrets." It was an outright lie, and Brian knew it. He had ever only had one regret, and Justin was it.

 

"And this?" Justin gestured back and forth between them. "What is this?"

 

"Us, having coffee."

 

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." He glared at Brian, receiving nothing but a blank look in return. Gritting his teeth, he slammed his now empty mug on the nightstand.

 

"Never mind."

 

Rising, he scooped up his clothes and began to dress.

 

"You still have a wall around you a mile high. And there's no door."

 

This was going wrong very fast.

 

"What do you want from me, Justin?"

 

Justin finished dressing and gave Brian a hard look.

 

"A door. Even a window would suffice."

 

Without another word, Justin left, slamming the metal door behind him.

 

###

 

Michael's store still had the same unique smell Justin remembered, a scent that inspired thoughts of creativity and memories of _Rage_. The mustiness of the printed page mingled with the mouth-watering aroma of fried, greasy food, fresh from Liberty Diner. Justin had always wondered if Michael ever ate anything else when he was not eating with Ben.

 

The only person among the racks was a redheaded teenaged boy, rummaging through a box of comics. He barely looked at Justin.

 

"Michael?" Justin headed to the back of the store, almost running face-first into the man he sought as Michael hurried out from the storage area.

 

"Hey, Justin! Didn't know you were still in town." He carried a stack of Fantastic Four comics, which he placed on the counter before wiping the sweat from his forehead. "What's up?"

 

Justin bit his lip, looking around the store until he found the display for _Rage_ in a corner by the checkout desk. Smiling fondly, he walked over to look.

 

"Still selling, huh?"

 

"Of course! People ask me if we're ever going to continue it. I tell them no, so collect it while it's still available! Hey, if you want your share of the money . . . ."

 

Justin waved him off. "No. It's okay, really. I'm just glad to see people haven't forgotten it."

 

Michael leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "You didn't come here to talk about _Rage_."

 

Justin dropped his eyes to the floor, running a hand through his hair. "Uh, no. I came to ask about what you said the night you came to my show. I know I cut you off then, but I'd like to hear what you wanted to say."

 

Michael nodded slowly. "About Brian? Let me guess. He's been pursuing you while trying to make it look like he's not."

 

"You said he's changed. Subtly, but enough you can see it."

 

Michael sighed, glancing around the shop. "Come back here, and we'll talk." He called out to the teenager. "Rod, keep an eye on the store, will you?"

 

He led Justin to the storage room in back. A small desk with a ledger was crammed into a corner, along with two foldout chairs. Boxes stood in tall stacks everywhere. Michael sat in one while gesturing Justin to the other. Leaning under the desk, he pulled out a can of soda from a cooler.

 

"Want one?"

 

Justin shook his head, and Michael shrugged, popping the tab and taking several deep gulps. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he rested the can on his knee and gave Justin a tired look.

 

"After you left, he was okay for a while. Acted normal, worked at Kinnetik, and focused on getting Babylon rebuilt. He even told me he had bought tickets to go visit you in a few weeks."

 

That was news to Justin. Brian had never mentioned tickets and never came to visit.

 

"Then he changed. Got irritable and reclusive. When I asked about the upcoming visit, he said the trip was cancelled. I pressed for an explanation, and he blew up. Said it was over between the two of you, and he didn't want to hear your name ever again. Refused to talk about it anymore. For months, he kept to himself, and I don't even think he took any tricks home."

 

Yes, that _was_ unusual.

 

"Then Babylon reopened. Brian poured all his money and advertising skills into it, and it was a hit again. Lines outside a mile long. He went every night to dance and trick, just like old times. I never saw him with the same person twice, though."

 

"I thought you said he _changed_."

 

"Well, it took a long time before I noticed it. Years. Slowly, over time, he tricked less and less. Stopped taking them home even. Took them in the back room only. And the drugs . . . you know how he was with drugs. He stopped taking them. Told his dealer he wasn't interested anymore. He still drinks though. You can never separate Brian from his booze."

 

"Huh."

 

"He rarely tricks now. When he does take someone to the back room, it's a big deal, because he's still legendary, you know? Guys still want him to fuck them, but he can’t be bothered. And Brian Kinney not wanting sex five times a night? It's weird."

 

"True."

 

"He doesn’t talk much either, not even to insult Ted and Emmett. The only time I see a glimpse of the old Brian is when we go to Toronto to visit Mel and Linz. Or when Gus comes to visit Brian. He smiles then, makes sarcastic jokes like he used to. Then we leave, or Gus leaves, and he turns quiet once again."

 

"Did you know he was keeping tabs on me in New York?"

 

"He was? Well, I'm not surprised. I've seen the pictures in his loft, and I know they're yours. Every year, he buys a new one. Sometimes, when I go over there, I'll catch him staring at them. Just staring . . . wistfully . . . like he's trying to remember something. He never got over you, Justin."

 

"He's the one who ended it, Michael. He stopped returning my phone calls, my messages. Cut me off, like I was nothing."

 

"And that surprises you?"

 

"Yes!"

 

Michael shook his head sadly. "You didn't see him while you were in L.A. He was so convinced you were never coming back, that you were going to forget us and move on. He probably felt the same when you went to New York."

 

"I would never have done that! Never!"

 

"Maybe not, but he doesn't know that, Justin. Look, I grew up with Brian. His family? They are as cold and unloving as blocks of ice. He grew an armor as powerful as any superhero’s, just to keep them from hurting him, and they did anyway. He's never been able to depend on anyone except me, and then you. Protecting himself is all he knows, Justin. Why do you think he tried so hard to not love you in the first place?"

 

"You would think after five years, he would know me better. He told me he loved me! He asked me to marry him! And he still thought I would walk away?"

 

"Or maybe he thought you _should_." Michael put a hand on Justin's shoulder. "Your career was important to him, Justin. Maybe he felt the best way to love you was to let you go."

 

Justin could not stand to hear anymore. Leaning forward, he gave Michael a hug.

 

"Thanks, Michael. You've given me something to think about."

 

"Anytime."

 

Michael followed Justin back out to the front and watched him leave.

 

"Who was that?" asked Rod, glancing at the closing door.

 

"Half of a broken heart." Michael sighed and shook his head.

 

###

 

Daphne's apartment was half of a brick duplex built in the forties. The front porch was old and sagging, the pale green paint peeling to reveal a white base coat underneath. When she got home that night from her shift, Daphne found Justin standing on the porch, leaning against the railing, a cigarette casting a yellow glow across his face.

 

"I thought you gave up smoking," she said, walking up the steps to join him.

 

"I did. Just enjoy one or two every once in a while."

 

"Like when you're brooding about Brian?"

 

"Am I always so obvious?"

 

"You've spent a good portion of your life brooding over him, Justin." She gazed out onto the quiet street.

 

"Been half a lifetime now since I met him." He stubbed the cigarette on the railing with enough force to make it creak. "Fuck, Daphne, why can't I get over him? How can one man have such a hold over me?"

 

"Because something in your seventeen-year-old self found something in him that couldn't be denied. Something strong enough to keep you coming back no matter how shitty he was to you. Not just a physical something either, because that would never have lasted as long as this has."

 

"I wonder what that was." His voice was gritty with bitterness. "And I wonder what it was that kept him taking me back."

 

"Love, Justin."

 

He whirled on her. "Love? He ended our relationship!"

 

"He loved you enough to let you go, Justin. Not just to go to New York. He loved you enough to let you _go_."

 

He sighed. "Michael said the same thing."

 

"Well, who knows him better than Michael?"

 

"At one time, I would have said me."

 

Daphne leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder. "Maybe it's not too late."

 

He choked out a laugh, shooting her a disbelieving look. "After eleven years of separation?"

 

"He still loves you. Isn't it obvious?"

 

"I don't know if I can do it again, Daph. He'll just push me away eventually. He always does."

 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

 

"So, don't let him."

 

###

 

The bottle of Jim Beam dangled loosely from his fingers, threatening to fall from his outstretched hand. Brian lay with his head at the bottom of the bed, the hand holding his drink hovering in midair while he studied Justin's painting through bleary eyes. It was dark in the loft, the only light coming from a dimmed spotlight highlighting the picture. All he could see was red . . . red streaming everywhere from multiple wounds.

 

_He painted it wrong. I'm the one lying on the bed, thorns pricking my skin. I'm the one bleeding out my life until nothing's left._

 

He should have tried harder this morning. He should have told Justin about his life now: how it meant nothing, how it felt like nothing. And he had not even realized it until the night he saw Justin at the club in Chelsea. His wall had already crumbled, sorrow swarming in through the cracks. So why did he hesitate to give Justin what he wanted?

 

_If I did, he might still be here, and it wouldn't be so damn dark._

 

He took another swig, letting the burning heat sink into his empty stomach. It was late. He needed to go to sleep, get up in the morning, and drive to Kinnetik, just as he did every day. _Go through the motions. Do what you have to do._

 

The loud, insistent knock at the door startled him badly. His wrist shook, and whiskey dribbled down his neck.

 

"Shit."

 

Sitting up, he swiped his wet neck with the corner of the bed sheet and set the bottle on the nightstand. The knock came again, pounding through his head like a bass drum.

 

"I'm coming!"

 

He stood, swaying as the room righted itself. How long had he been lying on the bed drinking anyway? _Too long_. He crossed the room, running his fingers through his mussed hair. It had to be Michael. Who else would be here in the middle of the night?

 

"Damn it, Michael," he muttered, flinging the door open in a fit of irritation.

 

It was not Michael, and it was not dark in the loft anymore either.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Speechless, Brian leaned against the doorframe, contemplating the younger man staring defiantly back at him. It was the same look Justin wore after they first met, repeatedly appearing at the loft, determined to become a part of Brian's existence. It was the same look he saw on Justin when he entered Brian's office at Vanguard, intent on winning Brian back. It was the same look he gave Brian when Brian found him in his kitchen, cooking chicken soup and refusing to let Brian throw him out. No one had perfected the don't-fuck-with-me look quite as well as Justin.

 

Brian finally stood back, gesturing for Justin to enter. The loft was still dark, but Justin seemed to know where he wanted to go. He walked directly to the bedroom where the picture was still lit by the soft spotlight overhead. Brian watched him for a minute, but when Justin did not move, he slammed the door shut and went to stand beside him. They stared at the painting for a while in an uneasy silence.

 

"I painted that after you stopped returning my calls and messages."

 

"I know." Brian could still remember the first time he had seen it in the gallery where Justin displayed his early works. That day, a small piece of him had died.

 

"I hated New York at first. I was lonely, and I needed you. But you didn't come."

 

Brian dropped his gaze to the floor. The blood in the picture always seemed so accusing, so judgmental.

 

"I was so tired of fighting you, of fighting _for_ you. I thought _, if he still doesn't believe me, even after all these years, then he never will_. I did the one thing I swore to myself I would never do. I gave up."

 

"You did what you had to do to move on."

 

The bitter laugh echoed through the darkness, cutting it like a knife.

 

"I did the wrong thing. I should have come back to Pittsburgh, slapped you in the face, and tied you to the bed. I should have fucked you endlessly until you finally believed you were worthy. I should have dragged you to New York and fucked you there too . . . so you would know that no matter where we were, together or separate, it doesn't _matter_."

 

Hot. The room was suffocating, and Brian wanted to slam his fist into the wall. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing the tremors in his arms to stop. When he felt Justin's hand on his arm, he jerked away as if Justin were the source of the heat . . . as if his touch would burn, bringing all the buried pain to the surface.

 

"I tried! I wanted you to see what you were capable of, without me around to distract you from your work." He took a step back, away from Justin and away from the damned painting, the blood he could not erase from his vision. "I hoped you would find someone who shared your dream of marriage, and you did! But I ruined that also, didn't I? At least the memory of me did."

 

Justin grabbed the front of his jeans and shoved him hard against the bed, forcing Brian's knees to buckle.  

 

"Fuck, Brian, I've only ever wanted you since I was seventeen!" Justin's face glistened in the dim light. "How many years does it take to convince you? How many times do we both have to hurt before you believe? 'Cause I'm not walking away again. You can deny it all you want, but I know you love me. I see it hanging on your walls. I see it in the way your hands shake when you fuck me. I see it in your eyes, Brian!"

 

_Fuck_. Brian fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with both hands, furious at their betrayal. Even then, he could still see the blood, flowing everywhere.

 

The bed dipped, and fingers wrapped around his wrists, tugging them away. He fought then, struggling against all the fire, blood, and anguish of the past eleven years. He thought he even howled, screaming out his pain, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat, racing to flee. They wrestled, panting and grunting as they rolled across the bed, Justin fighting Brian, and Brian fighting himself.

 

It was over fast. Brian lay on his side shivering, Justin straddling his waist and holding his hands together in front of his chest. Just as suddenly as it came, the fire died, leaving him cold and empty. Brian could not remember the last time he had ever surrendered to anything, but it was a relief. Justin leaned forward, draping himself over Brian's torso, burying his face against Brian's sweaty skin. One hand continued to hold both of Brian's while the other rubbed small circles on his back, soothing and warm.

 

They lay there for a long time, until the sheet under Brian's face was more than a little damp. He let out a deep, cleansing sigh and freed his hands, reaching up to stroke the blond hair tickling his side. Slowly, the emptiness began to fill with the sweetness of absolution. He wanted time to stop, to freeze forever in this moment where nothing existed but the two of them.

 

When lips brushed lightly along his shoulder, a new fire began to build. Rolling to his back, he captured Justin's lips with his own, anger morphing to need. He tasted Justin's desire, and it fueled his own, igniting the passion that always simmered between them.

 

Justin reared back, yanking at Brian's jeans, tossing them aside before hastily pulling off his shirt. He got no further, as Brian swiftly sat up, grabbing his arm and pulling Justin on top of him. Teeth clicked as their mouths came together, seeking the connection lying just beneath the surface, the connection Brian had spent so many years trying to forget. He never wanted to lose it again.

 

It was not until he entered Justin, slow and gentle, that he finally met the other man's gaze. There was no blame, no bitterness. Only hope and something so intense it made Brian's chest ache. He dropped his forehead to Justin's, holding himself still inside the only man who had ever broken all his rules.

 

"I forgive you," Justin whispered, his breath tickling Brian' lips. "I forgive you, you arrogant prick."

 

A violent shudder wracked Brian's body. He shook his head rapidly, hair sticking to the sweat trickling from his temples. His eyes squeezed tight, unable to look at Justin, but the man beneath him yanked sharply at his hair.

 

" _I forgive you._ "

 

He opened his eyes then, wanting to protest, wanting to deny, but he could not speak. Justin very deliberately clenched his ass, and Brian gasped, unable even to pull away. They surged together, no longer holding back, fingers clutching and scratching for purchase as they crashed together gracelessly. Brian could not have stopped if he wanted to. This was _Justin_ , the boy who would never leave him alone . . . the man who saw past all his bullshit.

 

He wanted it to last, could not bear to see it end, could not endure watching Justin leave again, but his body wanted something else. The edge loomed, driving him into a frenzy as he clutched Justin's hips, thrusting desperately while his lover curled around him. So _close_ , fuck, so close, and . . . .

 

He could not move. Justin had grabbed his hips firmly, holding him back, refusing the last push that would let him finish. Confused, he stopped . . . panting, needing, _please_ . . . .

 

"Justin?"

 

"Promise me. Never again." Justin was panting also, pupils wide and dark, but determined. "Never again, Brian."

 

He understood. Claiming Justin's mouth, he kissed him deeply, ignoring his own need to fulfill Justin's.

 

"Never again," he whispered as their lips broke apart. "I promise."

 

It was exactly what Justin needed and he arched, crying out wordlessly as Brian slammed forward. Brian came too, moaning into Justin's chest, releasing every last doubt and holding them together as they flew apart.

 

###

 

It took two more fucks to work out the remaining tension between them, but they finally fell asleep just before dawn, limbs sprawled artlessly across each other. Brian woke first, squinting into the sunshine pouring through the loft's windows. It was the first time in years he had opened his eyes to find another man pressed against him. He had never realized how badly he missed it.

 

"What time is it?” Justin mumbled, his breath tickling Brian's nipple mercilessly.

 

"Afternoon, at least."

 

He rolled away reluctantly, heading to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returned, Justin took his place. While he was gone, Brian sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at the bottom drawer of his bedside table. When he heard the flush, he quickly opened it, withdrawing a small box and placing it under his pillow before lying back on the sheets. Justin emerged, pausing to run his eyes over Brian's body before deliberately crawling back on the bed. His hair stuck up around his ears and along with the saucy grin on his face, gave him an impish look. He nipped at Brian's lower lip playfully, his eyes clear and happy for the first time since Brian had seen him at The Playroom. Running his fingers through Justin's hair, he smiled gently.

 

"You seem happy." He ran his tongue along the ridge of Justin's collarbone, enjoying the feel of the slim body hovering over his.

 

"Mmmm,” Justin murmured, closing his eyes. "I had almost forgotten how satisfying Brian Kinney-sex is."

 

Brian bit his shoulder, pulling Justin flush against him. "As good as New York sex?"

 

"Better." Justin sighed as Brian trailed his tongue further up his neck. "I think you spoiled me for anyone else. I'm only tuned to the Kinney radio station."

 

Brian chuckled softly and pulled Justin into a deep kiss, caressing Justin's lips and tongue until Justin began rutting slowly against Brian's hip. Warmth flushed Brian's skin, Justin's mere presence the only aphrodisiac he needed. He grabbed Justin and rolled them over, still face-to-face. Before he could continue, however, Justin stopped him, settling his hands firmly on Brian's shoulders.

 

"I need to know where we're going with this, Brian. I can't . . . I can't just do the occasional meet-ups to fuck."

 

Brian touched his forehead to Justin's. "Tell me what you want."

 

"I want us. Together. It's what I always wanted, Brian."

 

Brian traced Justin's jawline with the tip of his nose. "So tell me where I can find a nice place in New York."

 

"I don't want you there."

 

Brian raised his head, squinting in puzzlement. "You said you wanted to be together."

 

"Not there. Here. I want to come home, Brian."

 

"But your work . . . ."

 

". . . . is well established. I've accomplished what I set out to do, Brian. My works are still emerging, but I have a successful comic strip and a toehold in the art world. I can live wherever I want, and I want to be here."

 

"Justin, you can't just give up your life there."

 

"What life? I have a few friends, but I can still visit New York whenever I want. There's nothing else there I can't have here." Justin placed a hand on Brian's cheek. "Haven't we wasted enough time apart?"

 

_More than enough._ Brian bit his lip, but could not hide the smile struggling to surface.

 

"Just tell me what I can do to help, Sunshine."

 

Instead of answering, Justin drew him into a blistering kiss, blocking all thoughts for a good minute until Brian finally pulled back, intent on completing his plan before lust took over his brain.

 

Reaching under his pillow, he withdrew the small box he had placed there earlier. Opening it, he upended the contents into Justin's hand. There was a long silence as Justin gaped at the two rings lying in his palm.

 

"You still have them . . . ."

 

"You knew I didn't take them back."

 

"Yeah, but I figured by now . . . ." Justin looked at him curiously. "Wait. You aren't going to propose again, are you?"

 

Brian could not help but laugh. "Been there, done that. I thought we agreed we were beyond marriage, that our relationship wasn't confined by conventional rules?"

 

"Then what's this about?"

 

Brian picked up the rings and held them side by side, the sunlight casting a linked two-circle shadow on the wall behind him.

 

"I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. Never again." Brian rubbed the rings between his fingers. "We don't need a ceremony or a document. But these rings . . . they're a token of my promise."

 

He looked at Justin expectantly, and the other man slowly held out his hand. Brian gently slipped a ring on before putting the other on himself. Then he leaned forward to capture Justin's lips in a chaste kiss, his face somber but his eyes twinkling.

 

"Brian, I . . . ."

 

Brian shook his head and covered Justin's mouth with his hand. "Later. I happen to be very horny right now, and I haven't had my morning fuck."

 

Justin laughed as Brian pushed him back on the bed. "It's not morning anymore, and shouldn't we make some kind of vow or something?"

 

Brian laved the side of Justin's neck with a hot tongue. "We already did. And four hours without giving attention to my cock is far too long."

 

If Justin intended to say more, he did not get the chance. Brian caught his wrists, flinging Justin's arms above his head and devouring him as if his very life depended on the connection they shared. It probably did.

 

###

 

Brian detested waiting.

 

He never waited for anything. If he was going to a nice restaurant, he always made a reservation. He called ahead to the gym to make sure there was no wait. He hired someone to do his shopping simply because he could not bear to wait in lines. At the airport, he timed his arrival by limo perfectly, slipping through security at the last minute and boarding just as they called for first class. Even at the diner, there was always a spot for Brian Kinney. If there was not, pity the poor fool at the counter who had to move or suffer a death stare worse than Debbie's.

 

In this unfortunate circumstance, however, he did wait. He supposed he could have sent someone to the airport instead of coming himself, but that would have meant waiting even longer to meet Justin. He would not stand for that, so here he was, pacing back and forth in front of a Starbucks near the security checkpoint, unable to go further unless he was a passenger.

 

_What if he changed his mind?_

 

It was not an impossibility. Justin owed him nothing and had a full life in New York. He could probably date anyone he wanted, and Brian knew he was a lousy candidate. Who would want to be with someone as emotionally stunted as he was? Years ago, he would have said that Justin needed _him_. Now, he was smart enough to know _he_ needed Justin. What would he do if Justin decided not to come?

 

He was about to demand that security let him through when he saw a familiar face approaching from the checkpoint. He tried _very_ hard to maintain an air of nonchalance, but failed miserably when he saw Justin's entire face light up. His heart was pounding as he stepped away from the wall just as Justin, still a few yards away, dropped his duffle bag and ran into Brian's arms, nearly clawing his way up Brian's newest Armani suit. Brian fell back against the wall, one hand digging deep into the dark-blond hair, the other clutching Justin's perfect ass as close as clothes would allow. If anyone was offended by their passionate display, the two men never saw and certainly did not care.

 

Brian would have happily continued kissing his lover for an hour, but a discreet cough behind Justin finally won his attention. Without letting Justin move away even an inch, he glared at the pretty brunette dressed in a blue security outfit.

 

"Is it an issue for two men to kiss in an airport?"

 

Looking puzzled, she gestured behind her to Justin's bag. "Certainly not, sir. I just wanted to remind you that no bags are to be left unattended while in the airport."

 

Justin gave her a sheepish grin and shouldered his bag. The security officer flashed Brian a wink.

 

"You can resume your scorching display of affection now."

 

Brian flashed her a wide smile and did just that.

 

###

 

_Three months later . . . ._

The large canvas swayed dangerously as Justin removed it from its hooks, saved only by the fact that Daphne had a firm grip on the other side.

 

"Sheesh, Justin! You trying to dump it on my foot?" She scowled down at her sock-clad feet, sinking into Brian's plush duvet.

 

Together, they lowered it to the bed and laid it face-up. Grabbing her beer from the bedside table, she leaned against the wall, watching while Justin wrapped the picture for storage.

 

"So, what are you going to do with it?" She admired the nude bodies twisted together among the roses.

 

Justin paused to take a last look at _The Pain of Love_. He could still feel the sharp ache of loss, but it was muted now, replaced with understanding.

 

"Sell it. If no one wants it, I'll let the gallery keep it for free."

 

"But Brian was the one who bought it. Shouldn't you ask him before you get rid of it?"

 

"I don't want it here, Daph. Every time he looks at it, he feels guilty."

 

"Brian Kinney? Feel guilty?"

 

He chuckled ruefully. "He would never admit it, of course, but I see it in his face whenever he looks at this painting. There's still a lot of pain there, and we need to heal. Besides, he'll like its replacement better."

 

Daphne set down her bottle and helped Justin carry the canvas to the large crate near the kitchen. After settling it inside, she followed him back to the bedroom where another large picture rested against the closet, still covered in tissue paper. She sat on the edge of the bed while Justin removed the wrapping, leaning forward in her eagerness to see the new painting.

 

"Ahh," she breathed, when Justin stepped away, giving her a full view. "Justin, you're amazing. It's perfect!" She clapped her hands, wishing she could see Brian's face when he saw it.

 

"I know." He grinned, happy with the result. "Now help me hang it up before he gets home."

 

###

 

Brian slid the steel door closed with a resounding clang. He was in an extremely good mood. Kinnetik had acquired two lucrative accounts today, and Ted was suggesting they seriously consider expanding. If he opened an office in New York, it would give him an excuse to buy a condominium in the city, another home for him and Justin for the times when they needed to be there. For now, Justin usually stayed at a hotel when he had a meeting with his agent or a showing. It was time for something more permanent.

 

"Sunshine?"

 

He removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the sofa. There was another reason he was in such a good mood. Today was the three-month anniversary of Justin coming home. Of course, an anniversary of any kind was nothing he had ever felt worth celebrating, but it gave him an excuse to enact an idea he had had for a while, an idea involving the chilled bottle of wine under his arm and a CD in his pocket.

 

"You home?" he called. The lights were out, but the bedroom was dimly lit with the spotlights he had hung over the painting.

 

"In the bedroom!"

 

Smiling, Brian retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard and poured the chardonnay into both. Then he went over to the stereo, inserting the CD before retrieving the two glasses and heading into the bedroom.

 

"Wearing nothing, I hope . . . ."

 

He froze, recognizing the difference in the room immediately. Justin lay on the bed, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare and arms folded behind his head. His lips curled in a soft smile, one reserved for when they were alone and Justin was feeling especially sentimental. Brian figured the new painting above the bed was the reason why.

 

He simply stared, taking in the picture piece by piece, just as he had the first time he had seen it. It still invoked strong feelings, but not the ones that had torn his heart apart in the gallery at PIFA.

 

_Broken_ had been repainted. For the most part, it was still the same . . . the same hazy scenes filled the background, muted behind a window streaked with rain. But the hands in the middle, sharper even than before, had changed. The older hands, clearly male, cupped the upturned hands of the younger man, on which rested the two rings. No longer broken, they were linked together, solid and whole. The scarf draped over the wrists was washed clean, without a trace of blood.

 

Brian carefully set the glasses of wine on the side table and moved closer to the painting. In the lower left-hand corner was the name of the picture, _Promise_. In the other bottom corner was a small inscription, _Never again, never apart._

 

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. When he reopened them, Justin had moved to the edge of the bed, his smile gone, eyes anxious.

 

"Too much?"

 

_Never enough._ Unable to speak, he took Justin's hand and pulled him off the bed. He took a moment simply to look into the eyes of the man who had taught him that love could be real, sincere, and encompassing. And for Brian Kinney, that was no small thing.

 

Without looking away, he reached for a glass of wine, handing it to Justin and then taking his own.

 

"Never again," he said softly, tapping his glass to Justin's.

 

Justin's lips curled slightly. "You better not."

 

They drank, smiling at each other, and then Brian took both glasses and set them down again.

 

"Come here."

 

He pulled Justin into the main room, and let go of his hand, leaving Justin standing in the center of the spacious hardwood floor while he went to the stereo and picked up its remote.

 

"What are you doing?" Justin lifted one eyebrow in amusement.

 

Brian walked back to him, trying but failing to hide his smile.

 

"We both know I'm not the romantic type."

 

"Not even close."

 

"And yet, I can, on occasion, be somewhat sentimental."

 

"You can?"

 

"I can." Brian chewed on his lower lip for a moment, the smile fading. "We haven't yet celebrated the fact that you finally regained your memory of a very special night."

 

Justin went very still. "Brian . . . ."

 

"A night that for me, became marred when you were attacked. Ever since, I've wished I could forget, but of course, I couldn't." He took Justin's hands and gripped them tightly. "Your blood has followed me everywhere."

 

"Oh God, Brian . . . ."

 

Brian shook his head sharply, stopping Justin from speaking further.

 

"Because of that, I forgot what happened before . . . how we danced, the way they watched us, the way you looked at me. Well, I think it's time we remembered together, don't you?"

 

Justin squeezed his hands, his eyes bright, his grip strong.

 

"I agree."

 

Brian aimed the remote at the stereo, pushed play, then tossed the remote on the sofa. As the first strains of music filled the loft, he took Justin in his arms exactly as he had sixteen years ago.

 

_You can dance, every dance with the guy_

_Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight . . . ._

Their feet found the rhythm, moving them in endless circles around the loft, and they remembered. For the first time since that fateful night, there was no pain and no blood, no guilt and no regret. They had moved beyond it, and needed no words to express how they felt. The past eleven years did not even matter.

 

It was only time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Zevgirl for editing this work. I hope you all enjoyed it! There's a parallel story, A Feline Approach to Brian Kinney, if you want to read more.


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